


this world we have built is burning down around us

by an_awkward_shit, Anon (MDOL)



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Betrayal, Big Brother Technoblade, Child Soldiers, Eret Redemption (Video Blogging RPF), Family, Forgiveness, Fuck Canon, Gen, Healing, He’s working on it, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Character Injury, Mentions of Suicide, Mild Language, PTSD, Past meets future, Phil’s B+ Parenting, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Wilbur Soot, Redemption, References to Depression, References to Gaslighting, References to Manipulation, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Trauma, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Violence, and it needs to be addressed damnit, big brother wilbur soot, everybody’s fucked up, other than Dream there is no good or bad guy, sbi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28722144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_awkward_shit/pseuds/an_awkward_shit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDOL/pseuds/Anon
Summary: Tommy’s a child soldier who’s given up everything for a nation that’s never given anything back, and now he’s just trying to get through the days with his war criminal brother and the last scraps of his will to live.But nothing is ever calm for long. When he and Techno get stuck in a hard place with nowhere to go, and Tommy is slaughtered for the last time by Dream, the blond will have to face his past and his demons to fix things once and for all.He himself was too far gone, but Tommy had not always been Theseus. Perhaps he would not have to be.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Eret & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 292
Kudos: 1985
Collections: Dream SMP Fics (Mainly Tommyinnit (Yeah I'm That Bitch))





	1. to ashes we burn

**Author's Note:**

> I do not condone Tommy betraying Techno like he did after everything L’manberg put him through, but I do not condone Techno teaming up with Tommy’s abuser either! 
> 
> I do not condone Techno being a hypocrite (Tommy was clear that he didn’t want to hurt L’manberg or Tubbo just as Techno was beforehand, so stop calling it betrayal!), but I do not condone Tommy siding with people who threw him under the bus for the sake of a power-hungry tyrant! 
> 
> I understand Techno and Tommy, but I don’t agree with either. I’m here to fix all that by having both of them come to terms with each other and reconcile their differences (which was missed in the time they spent together in the arc).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy never intended any of this, but what was he expecting? All he’d ever invoked was violence.

** Present Day **

  
Tommy would like to rip his hair out right about now.

There’s too much screaming, too many voices (and he might even wish they were inside his head right about now, not made up of his friends(?) and enemies spitting acid back and forth), but Tommy has no chance to control them, no way to coral or calm the noise. It’s getting louder and louder, and Techno stands beside him, silent and invisible; he wonders if the piglin hybrid can see the twitches of his fingers, the way his vision blurs and his heart pounds hard enough to break his ribcage.

He feels the bite of heat and cold flood his brain, and he’d think it adrenaline if it didn’t hurt so bad. His vision is wonky already, but something else knocks him back a bit, makes him stumble enough for Techno’s eyes to shoot down at him. His surroundings tilt, and he feels like he’s watching through a screen, the film old and worn because it’s skipping, some events out of place and some missing.

All he knows is that he feels himself swallow the bile that bitters his tongue, and then he’s screaming out, standing amongst the crowd, still unseeable to the eye (but they all know he’s there) as he violently swipes away accusations and blame.

“You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“Tommy’s the biggest liar on the server.”

“It’s something you would do, isn’t it?”

“You have to ruin everything, don’t you, Tommy?!”

He felt himself tremble, felt his resolve weaken, and he didn’t dare ask why he was here; he hadn’t lost his mind, he was sure of it, but others would not be so quick to agree. It wasn’t like they were quick to stand up for him now, after all.

“You never gave a damn,” he whispered, throat burning and mind numb. People were yelling at him, but his eyes never left Tubbo. “I may be a liar, but at least I know where my loyalty lies. Fuck your...” He felt tears prick his vision. “Fuck your government, fuck this country. What happened to us, Tubbo? L’manberg? I feel like we all lost sight of what this nation was supposed to be—it’s people. Not the land, not the power, but the hearts of everyone in it.”

“You think I wanted this?!” Tubbo gestured wildly to the remains of the community house around them. “This was you, Tommy! Not me! What is this supposed to prove, huh? That you try to solve things with destruction and violence? Is that your solution?!”

“I didn’t burn down the damn community house!” Tommy cried, but he didn’t dare let his weakening knees give. “When did you stop trusting me? When it became convenient? I gave up everything for this damned nation! I lost a life to Dream trying to take independence, and no one else was standing up, were they? I gave up my discs for everyone who wanted freedom! Then Wilbur and I were exiled, and I lost my fucking brother to insanity because of it! I try to be a goddamned child for just a moment, and I get exiled because of a prank that went fucking wrong!”

“You destroyed George’s house! You robbed him!”

“When the fuck has that ever mattered?!” Tommy shrieked, feeling everything break inside of him. It was all so flawed, all so fucked. “You’re pulling threads, Tubbo! My house has been griefed so many times, my stuff stolen, and so has everyone else; sometimes worse! It was an accident, we tried to fix it; I’m so fucking sorry I made a mistake! It’s not like anyone else was exiled for it! You bowed to Dream’s will because you were scared; maybe you didn’t want war, but everything we fought for, I fought for, was for naught if you’re letting him pull the strings anyway!”

Tubbo’s fists clenched, tears brimming his bright eyes, and Tommy only felt his stomach roll, the invisibility potion finally wearing off and revealing him to the silent crowd, his winter clothes and cloak draped around him. He was suddenly aware of the heavy presence behind him, towering over him.

“Tommy wouldn’t lie to me,” Techno was saying. “Maybe he’d lie to you, Dream, but he wouldn’t lie to me.”

A hand laid itself on Tommy’s shoulder, and he prayed it was enough to keep him from shaking to pieces. The yelling had thrown him, and Dream’s mask hovering off to the side, blank and deadly, only made him recall the sound of igniting dynamite and the mocking coos of cruel comfort, of unwanted touches and desperate begging.

“Him being allied to you really does not help his case,” Dream announced, and Tommy didn’t dare close his eyes; he didn’t know if he could dare to keep them open, though. “Nor his being here when he’s exiled.”

“So you accuse him of shit and then insist he’s guilty for defending himself?” Techno scoffed, hand tightening on Tommy’s shoulder. “Great laws.”

“Give me the discs.” Dream turned to Tubbo. “They connect you to Tommy, make you responsible for him. Stop taking on his consequences.”

“Don’t fucking do this, Tubbo,” Tommy croaked, and he felt Techno shift beside him, knew the man was preparing to pull his weapon. “Don’t play into his hands, not again. You give him those, and it’s over. You’ve betrayed me.”

“You betrayed me!” Tubbo cried, manic and desperate. “You betrayed L’manberg!”

“Since when?!” Tommy snarled, felt his spit fly, felt his teeth catch his cheek, felt his head go fuzzy with the storm that filled him. “I never did anything wrong, Tubbo, and you know it. I’ve already told you. I was kicked out because Dream needed me out of the way; I was the only one who insisted on opposing him. Once he did that, you were all easy.”

Tubbo glowered, hurt and pain shining in his tears. “You’re an asshole.”

“You thought I died, right?” Tommy felt himself wobble forward, felt his hands shake. “I know you saw my tower, saw what was left of Logstedshire. What else would have convinced you?” Tubbo paled, and Tommy felt his eyes swim. “I never told you that I wanted to. I was ready to die for a long time—I spent more time gazing at the lava in the Nether than in the Overworld—and building that tower was my last straw. Dream came everyday, no one else except to mock me or look at me like a zoo animal, and manipulated me, gaslighted me, hit me and beat me when I didn’t listen. He’d hug me when I obeyed, pet me like a dog, and I  craved it!” Tommy dug his nails into his arms, hugging them against himself as blood trailed down his arms from the grooves. “Like a starved fucking dog, abused and useless, and nobody helped. Nobody! He was my friend when nobody else was, and he wasn’t even that! He’d blow up everything I had, everyday, leaving me defenseless, starving, and completely dependent on him! I woke up every morning underwater, drowning, and sometimes I wonder if I was trying to come here in my sleep, or if I really wanted to die that badly! It’s fucked that I don’t know which one is worse!”

Dream was silent, only taking a step back, like he might be ready to run. Techno finally pulled his sword free, brandishing it at his side, and the crowd shuddered, pulling back slightly. Tubbo trembled in place, pale and unsure but still defiant.

“Dream has been nothing but helpful since—“

“You’re so naive,” Techno sneered, his voices screaming in his ears, for blood and vengeance and justice. “That’s how manipulation works, kid: lies, facades, and just enough truth to trick you.”

“Sometimes I still wish I fucking died in that damned exile,” Tommy hissed. “Sometimes I hate that I was too fucking pussy to do it.”

“You realized you were being fucked with,” Techno told him solemnly, and Tommy finally managed to break his stare to glance up at his brother. “When Dream finally left you alone, you realized how wrong everything had been, and you got out of there. You survived, lived, and worked to make the best of it. There is nothing ‘pussy’ about that.”

Tommy looked away quickly, not daring to attempt a response. Dream snatched the silence. “Make yourself the victim, Tommy, that’s all you ever do. Go ahead and lie; it doesn’t change that we all know you’re the boy who cried wolf.”

Tommy jerked at the abrupt eruption of screams, tripped over his own feet as Dream marched forward and Techno tugged him back into his chest, arm wrapped around his front and sword pointed forward, too close to the masked man’s throat for anybody’s comfort besides Tommy’s. “I’ll carve your heart right out of your chest, you green bastard,” the hybrid growled, tusks bared and red and black eyes promising blood. “I found my little brother hunkering beneath my house, ridden with disease, suffering from frostbite, and starving to death, only barely managing to survive on golden apples and potions that only made his dead immune system weaker. Wounded, malnourished, and already freezing to death, he ran through the snow, shaking and sobbing while he begged me not to hurt him.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than your heart between my teeth the moment I heard him call me by your name as he shook like a leaf and threw up from how badly he was hyperventilating.”

Nobody in the crowd breathed, and Tommy felt like maybe someone was choking him. He reached up, clutching at the arm wrapped around his front. “Techno?”

“Tommy—“ Tubbo started, shaky with fear and guilt and pain, but the blond was so tired, too tired.

“I want to go home,” he muttered, the crack in his voice rendering him unable to mask his words to anyone, unable to whisper and hide.

“Tommy, please—“

“You could have stood up for me.” Tommy sobbed, then, breaking, and the boy hoped nobody noticed that Techno was the only thing holding him upright. “You could have trusted me, could have believed me the one time it fucking mattered. And you couldn’t. I may lie, but I thought you knew best that it was never going to be over something like this!”

“Who else would do this? What was I supposed to think?!”

“That Dream did it? That he was manipulating you all into turning against Tommy and giving him exactly what he wants?” The pink-haired warrior rolled his eyes, tugging himself and Tommy further back. “You’re all pathetic.”

It was Niki who stepped forward this time, rage burning beneath her skin. “I sympathized for you so much,” she screamed at Tommy, “I loved you! I cared about you! But you never stopped causing trouble, even out of war times, no matter what consequences were thrown back at you! All you ever do is be violent!”

“Violence is all you’ve ever taught me!” Tommy screamed, and even as he flailed his arms, Techno didn’t loosen his grip, didn’t let go. Rage flashed across his face, this unfathomable fury at the audacity of Niki, of everyone, before it crumpled into grief, tears streaking down his face and lips trembling. “All I’ve ever known is violence! What the fuck am I supposed to do?!”

Niki’s expression melted, lips parting quietly as she fought to fuel her anger at the situation, for somebody to blame. Nobody else could quite muster a response either.

A beat, then two, and Techno turned to bolt with Tommy in his arms, but suddenly Punz was on top of them, sword swinging, and Techno pulled his own up to block the blow. Screams erupted, and it descended into a battlefield once more, just like always.

Tommy ducked out of Techno’s hold, knowing he was only a liability for his brother to deal with if he continued to be dead weight, and he fought to pull himself together as he gathered his sword in hand. He spun on his heel to plunge into the water that spilled over the destruction around them, hand ducking into his pocket to pull out an enderpearl, but he was tackled to the ground, his pearl slipping from his fingers and rolling away to be crushed by a stray foot amongst the chaos.

Tommy gasped in a breath from the blow, shifting to grapple with the person above him. “What the fuck?!”

“I can’t let you go with him! You sided with the enemy!” Tubbo cried, fighting to pin Tommy’s arms, and the blonde could have weeped; he imagined an axe in the place of small fingers and bloodied fists.

“So did you!” He pushed Tubbo up, rolling on top and swinging down to knock the boy out. Tubbo blocked it, kicking his legs and reaching up to claw at his face.

“If Dream did those things, why didn’t you ever ask for help, huh?” Tubbo scowled, and Tommy hated him for it. “Why’d you just let him hurt you?!”

“You exiled me! Kicked me out of my own country for a stupid fucking prank because of a man you thought was fucking helping! When you nor anybody came to visit, I didn’t dare think for one second that any of you gave enough of a damn to help! Dream made sure to convince me of that!” Tommy grabbed the boy’s wrists, yanked them harshly before slamming them to the ground. He was kicked off abruptly, and he rolled along the ground to try and recover. He glanced up and scrambled away as Tubbo started to stand. “You call me a shit friend, say I betrayed you, but we both know I didn’t! Deep down, you know you’re the one in the wrong here and you just refuse to face it! You’re not my friend, and I’m terrified to find out if you ever were!”

“Of course I was your friend!” Tubbo lunged forward, and Tommy dodged, picking himself up. “Please, Tommy, we can fix this!”

“You believed the word of a mad man over me, of my fucking abuser! You thought I committed suicide and never questioned it when I showed up alive! Then you completely disbelieved me when I said I was abused! You’re blaming me for your mistakes! I’m not your friend—I’m your scapegoat! And I’m sick of it!

“I’m sick of being called a child and made fun of until you need a martyr, a hero to do your dirty work, and then I suddenly need to man up and stand my ground, act like an adult. I’m whatever you want me to be when it’s convenient, but I can never be myself without being afraid of getting reprimanded for it! Techno never made me feel like that, ever! He doesn’t treat me like a child; he treats me like family! He doesn’t get mad when I build my towers or yell too loud or talk too much, even if he finds it annoying!

“I’m tired of fighting to be accepted when all I’ve ever done is what you people wanted!”

“Tommy!”

Techno’s cry barely reached Tommy’s ears as an axe was suddenly swung towards his head. He didn’t even finish blinking before the blur of an enderpearl shattered against the ground between himself and the weapon, and then the hybrid was standing in front of Tommy, an axe cleaved into his gut.

Techno glanced back at Tommy and gave him a wry grin, small and sarcastic but sincere, as blood dripped from between his lips.

Tommy felt something break inside his chest, and he’d think it his heart if it hadn’t already been lying at the bottom of his stomach in shards since his invisibility had worn off amongst friends and enemies and everyone who weren’t anything but presences.

“Techno!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming soon!


	2. it goes around and comes around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There had been a lot to work through, but they’d done it. 
> 
> Somehow, and somewhat unconventionally. 
> 
> But Tommy had wished for death for a reason. It was never going to end in hope.

**Before**

“Huh?” The piglin hybrid wrinkled his nose as Carl whinnied next to him. He patted the horse on its flank with a brief, “Be good,” before he entered his house.

The stench was strong, sour and ridden with infection. He scowled and followed the scent to his basement, where he found some stone in his floor just out of place. When he tapped his foot on it, he could hear the hollow hum beneath.

Groaning, he pulled out his pickaxe and dug into the floor, unsurprised by the hole but a little startled by the ladder. He’d been expecting an infestation, a raccoon perhaps, that had made its home under his house and decided to track about when he was gone. His items had been going missing, he knew, and now he was all too aware that it had not been Phil taking potions and golden apples but a thief.

The voices in his head called for blood, egging him on, but Techno just felt tired. After having almost been executed, he’d just wanted to sleep (and plan Phil’s escape, but he needed a clearer mind for that). As it was, if there was a thief, which was becoming more and more obvious, then Techno would need to deal with it, and he’d need to make sure they didn’t return.

Bloody and aching, he somewhat hoped that the thief had managed to curl up and die on their own from the wound he knew they had.

He climbed down the ladder, not persistent on being quiet but still effortlessly so, and moved down the small hall to be met with a messy room. He noticed a tunnel on the other side with a door further down first, but his gaze was dragged to the rest of the hole. It was damp and wet, and the smell of dirt, blood, and infection was disgustingly strong. Some parts of the room were frozen, likely from the cold outside, and the walls were scattered with an ugly yellow color. A chest, bed, and a familiar log caught Techno’s attention.

He moved towards it, frowning as he poked it, the bell hanging from the wood dinging softly. “Tommy’s prime log...?”

Suddenly, there was a gasp, and Techno whirled around to see a familiar face peeking out from under the ratty blankets of the bed. For a moment, the hybrid was surprised he’d missed the sight of the lump, but another blink and it was obvious why. Tommy was small, smaller than he’d ever been, and for the lanky teenager Techno could recall, such an observation sickened him.

He was pale, white like paper and unhealthily pasty barring the fresh burn scar that seemed to have been gained from an explosion by its pattern, stretching across his right cheek and trailing down the side of his neck. He was trembling, Techno noticed, and he thought perhaps it might be from the cold, the boy was so thin. His wrists looked to be the width of a blaze rod, and his cheeks were gaunt to the the point that the skin was sinking in. His eyes were dead, the only life being a spark that Techno could not name, and his hair was a matted, greasy mess.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Techno didn’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it did, but his casual monotone and surprise did little for him in terms of social interaction.

Tommy stared at him with big eyes, the blanket still draped over most of him, and suddenly the stench of rot rolled over him as the boy shifted. The piglin hybrid’s pupils dilated, and the blond froze in place. “Tommy,” he uttered, “why does it smell like death down here?”

The blonde blinked, opened and closed his mouth, before inhaling sharply and bolting up. He was out of the exit tunnel Techno had noticed firsthand before the warrior could blink, and with a startled grunt, he pursued the boy.

He met Tommy out in the snow, the flakes falling rather heavily as a strong wind whipped through the air, biting at Techno’s fingers. The blond had collapsed in the snow, scrambling to escape and sobbing as he did so. The pink-haired man blanched at the sight of the blood trailing behind Tommy’s body as he dragged himself through the cold white beneath their feet.

“Tommy,” Techno hissed, rushing forward and trying to pick the boy up out of the snow. He was hardly dressed for the harsh winter climate; he was hardly dressed for much of anything at all, his clothes more rags than coverings.

“No! Please, I’m sorry I ran! I didn’t mean to! I’ll give you my stuff! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please!” The boy screamed, trying to burrow further into the snow as he crossed his arms above his head, as though waiting for a blow. “Please, I’m sorry—Dream, Dream, Dream, I’m sorry—“

The voices screamed for blood, but now the cries for violence were balanced by cries for justice, to protect.

_ Help the child! _

_ Sadinnit! Sadinnit! _

_ Hold the baby! Pet the baby! _

_ E! Blood for the blood god! _

_Kill Dream! Make him pay!_

_Eat his heart!_

“Dream’s not here,” Techno tried to soothe, kneeling, but Tommy only screamed louder; it hurt his ears, the ringing. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Tommy, you need to breathe.”

But Tommy didn’t, couldn’t, and he started to choke on his own tears, coughing and weeping harder. Techno’s hands hovered nervously around the blond, panicking as he tried to figure out how to deal with the situation. 

“Please, please, please, please—“ Tommy begged but was cut off as he gagged and leaned to the side as he threw up into the snow, tears and snot dripping down his face. His cries had not slowed.

Techno noticed quickly that the bile was watery, lacking substance. Tommy was starving to death, and if the blood and smell of infection meant anything, he was only depleting quicker due to injuries.

Ignoring his brother’s pleas, he scooped the child up, tucking him into his chest at an attempt to keep him warm on the trek back towards his house. Tommy lost consciousness barely thirty seconds later, and Techno had the opportunity to look down and examine him.

What had been hidden by the covers had gone unnoticed until now, and Techno fought not to add his own stomach acid to the snow. The tips of Tommy’s fingers were starting to turn black, frostbite setting in, and his lips were blue. His leg, exposed and missing a shoe, had a deep gash in it, and Techno didn’t miss the blood seeping through the boy’s shirt either. His toes were also beginning to blacken, and Techno wondered if the other was similar. Bruises, yellow and blue, smattered his cheeks and bare arms, and Techno knew afflicted bruises when he saw them, knew even still by the hand-shaped one decorating Tommy’s throat like the cruel mocking of a necklace.

Despite freezing to death, Tommy was abnormally warm, and Techno knew it was sickness, likely from the infection that had no doubt set into his wounds. Clutching the small body tighter, he picked up his pace.

Later, when Tommy was sleeping peacefully upstairs by the fire and tended to, Techno would go back downstairs and look through the chests. He’d recognize his missing healing and strength potions, his golden apples that were already half gone, and decided not to pry into the pictures Tommy had stacked neatly in the corner off to the other side. 

Technoblade knew what Tommy had been doing. Starving as he was, the boy would have no appetite for food, no stomach for it. He’d down healing and strength pots to stay awake and his heart beating; golden apples had no substance, like eating paper, and they’d likely only been used to keep him going another step, another day. 

_Dream!_ The voices cried. _ Kill him! He did this! Blood for the blood god! Blood for the blood god! _

Yes, Techno thought, perhaps it was time he came out of retirement.

* * *

Tommy blinked himself awake, felt the familiar ache in his limbs and pounding in his head. But he was also warm, and his heart didn’t feel like it was pushing itself through the end of a straw, like his blood was barely crawling through his veins; he did not feel like he would melt any moment either, and something cool lied on his forehead. Eyes half-lidded and body pleasantly numb, he focused on the imposing figure of his brother, pink hair and blue cloak clashing together as easily as it blended.

Tommy hated that it was comforting after everything: Tubbo, the Pit, the Withers. The familiar fear rose in his chest despite the warmth underlying it, and he prepared for whatever was to come, be it punishment or death.

(He could not remember being found, likely due to the delusion from fever. If he had, if he’d remembered pleading not to be hurt, he might hate himself; he might hate that peace had been inches from his weakened grasp.)

But Techno did not lash out nor did he pick up a weapon. Instead, the hybrid curled clawed fingers gently into Tommy’s hair, now washed and dry, and ran them through. Tommy stiffened under the soft attention from the Blood God, his brother but also the man who so ruthlessly tried to tear down his nation and kill its people—kill him.

Techno’s eyes flashed, and he slowed his movements, simply keeping his fingers coiled in Tommy’s blond strands.

“Techno?” Tommy murmured, throat sore and heart pounding. Unsure and shaky in his confidence, he didn’t dare move. “I don’t understand...”

“You’re alright,” Techno promised, nails scraping ever so lightly against the boy’s scalp and fighting a smile when the boy melted into it. “Welcome home, Theseus.”

* * *

It took a bit for Tommy to heal. Despite the amount of potions Techno had on hand, the hybrid had refused his brother more than the necessities. After downing so many potions and golden apples without any actual food, Tommy’s immune system was too weak to handle much more. There was a reason Wilbur liked calling the potions “drugs.”

In all honesty, Techno was surprised Tommy had survived like he had, but he supposed the boy had always been stubborn. That resilience had saved his life, Techno poked at him, and it was odd when Tommy was completely quiet in response.

Techno ignored it, and a week later, when Tommy insisted on building his intimidation tower right outside his base, he regretted it.

He’d left for an hour or two, merely to collect some supplies from the Nether (gold for the most part; Tommy had gone through most of his gapple supply and still snuck some every once in a while, a habit Techno knew had been developed through the feral instincts of survival, one he hoped he could help break with time), and when he’d returned to his base, he immediately noticed the cobblestone towering into the sky.

He also noticed a certain blond kid standing at the top of it.

“Tommy!” He shouted, sighing heavily as he trekked closer. “I thought I told you not to build your ugly tower!” No response. “Tommy!”

But the boy didn’t move. Techno didn’t hear a loud cackle or guffaws nor a single cuss word. Pursing his lips, Techno headed inside and left Tommy to his own little world. He organized his supplies in the chests they belonged in before checking the time. He was not surprised by the late hours, but he was worried when he noticed Tommy had still not come inside.

Not only was it freezing out—the boy was just recovering from frostbite and an unstable immune system—but Dream might be looking for the blond who had vanished from his exile.

He trudged outside after hiking on his boots and looked up to see Tommy in the same place Techno had left him. He was standing, too, just like before, and the hybrid’s stomach sank. Why hadn’t he at least sat down? The tower didn’t look to be any taller than before, so what had Tommy been doing out here for the last few hours?

“Tommy!” Techno hollered up, trying to catch the teen’s attention, but there was no movement, no response.

Unsettled, he began to build up to his brother, reminding himself that if the cobblestone tower was going to stay it would need ladders, and stopped when he leveled out. He stepped onto the rim of Tommy’s build, freezing in place when the kid leaned closer to the edge.

“Tommy?” Techno braced himself as the blond turned around and blinked. “What’ve you been doing out here, huh?”

The boy blinked, brow slowly furrowing. He glanced towards the ground and then back to Techno. “Building my tower...” he frowned, “I thought, at least. How long has it been?”

“Don’t really know,” Techno admitted, gut heavy. “You must’ve built this while I was gone, but you’ve been zoning out ever since I got back. It’s been a few hours, but I don’t know how long you were dazing before I returned.”

“I didn’t...” Tommy chewed his lip uncertainly, glancing back at the snow below them. “I don’t remember...”

“Building this?” Techno refused to acknowledge the lead that weighed down in his stomach. “Good excuse.” He tried to smile, tried not to push the kid too far.

“No,” Tommy shook his head, “I don’t remember what happened after I stopped. Or I do, but it didn’t feel like it was that long. I got so high that the wind was stronger, and I thought I might fall off if I wasn’t careful. Then I...can’t remember.”

“You didn’t bring a water bucket with you?”

Tommy’s brow crinkled, something in his eyes lighting behind the deadness; even after his healing period, the boy’s eyes had not yet filled with their usual bright color. It was not a spark that coveted warmth or life but one that encouraged a realization. “I didn’t feel like it.”

Techno may live in the Arctic, in the snow and ice and harsh winds, but he’d never felt as cold as he did then. Frost crept through his veins and nerves, seeping straight into his heart and holding it in a grip too tight to escape but never too tight to kill, only to torture, to tease and break.

He’d felt the warmth of blood on his skin, the chills down his spine that his enemies’ and victims’ screams alike induced, but he could not imagine the adrenaline rush that violence produced being caused by his own little brother splattering onto the ground and painting the snow red (he wondered if he would scream on the way down, or laugh, or stay as silent as the dead already were). 

Perhaps, if he was cruel enough, there  _ would _ be adrenaline, just enough to off Dream and the entirety of L’manberg.

“Let’s go inside, Toms,” Techno suggested lightly and made sure to keep his voice level. He didn’t want the teen to notice anything was amiss, not with him. He was sure that Tommy was already aware of his own thoughts now, even if he hadn’t been before. “It’s freezin’ out here.”

“I was going to jump back at Logstedshire,” Tommy whispered, and Techno heard the words drift in the wind. “There’s a tower there. They’d think I was dead if they ever saw it.” Tears gathered in his eyes, ones that were once more focused on the ground. Techno took a careful step forward. “They won’t. Nobody ever came for me. Dream said he would, but...” he shivered, “I think Dream was lying, too. He didn’t care, even though it feels like he did, sometimes. But even if he did, he doesn’t anymore. He wasn’t coming back either.”

“Good riddance,” Techno spat. “Dream was an asshole, Toms. I’m glad you left him. He hurt you.”

Tommy glanced up at Techno, away from the ground, but there was no relief in it. He looked at the hybrid the same way he looked at the snow below them, as though he’d be his demise and his relief. Techno hated that he knew why.

“Everyone hurt me, Tech. Even you.”

If anyone was going to throw themselves off of the monstrosity they stood upon, it’d be him. He hadn’t visited Tommy either besides the one time he had, and he’d spent it mocking him. He’d nearly killed Tommy that fateful day in November, with his blade, Withers, and blood on his tusks; though he hadn’t, he’d threatened to, and something about that intent made the threat worse than the actions.

Tommy was a child, even if he’d been forced to grow up too fast. Techno never should have expected him to understand what could happen when power takes over. The blond was loyal to a fault, loved too hard; he put his faith into people, and it blinded him to what dangers they were capable of when given the chance.

Technoblade had been one of them, and perhaps he’d felt betrayed, but so did Tommy, and Techno couldn’t fault him for it. He didn’t blame the teen or himself for their own feelings at the time.

He blamed himself now, though.

“I know,” Techno agreed, and if it had been any other day, he’d insist Tommy hurt him, too, but looking at the boy now, he had a sinking feeling that Tommy  _ did _ know. Tommy knew, and that was part of the regret behind his gaze, part of the fear and pain in his heart that Techno held some piece of. “I know, and I’m sorry. I don’t regret what I did, but I regret what it did to you, what  _ I _ did to you. You shouldn’t have been subject to something that was never your problem, Tommy, and I can’t change it, but I can make up for it. But I can’t do that if you die.”

“I’m tired of feeling like people only like me when I do what they want.” Tommy rubbed at his eyes. “I screamed and yelled and I know I was obnoxious, and they always hated it, told me to knock it off. And I tried, but I can never keep my mouth shut, Dream told me so, and he shut me up, but they didn’t and just hated me for never being quiet. And I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to be a burden. I tried to be better: I gave up my life, my discs, my freedom. I tried to show them that I cared, even though I was loud and rude and annoying. But it wasn’t enough.”

Tommy blinked up at his brother, broken and beaten and miserable. “I was never enough.”

Alive, Techno reminded himself. Broken and beaten and miserable but alive.

He closed the distance quickly, giving the kid no chance to dodge or jump or flinch before he encased him in his arms and kept him tight to his chest. Techno still had his armor on.

“I’ve got you, kid,” he promised, the voices chanting in his head for revenge and justice and everything Techno had dreamt about. “They don’t deserve you, and I certainly don’t either, but I’m gonna tell you now that you’re worth more than what you can give, and they shouldn’t have decided otherwise.”

‘ _Neither_ _should I have._’

Tommy deserved to be a kid, not a child soldieror war criminal or Vice President. He deserved to live and laugh and not worry about being anyone other than himself, and it had been stolen away from everyone around him who’d convinced him they’d cared about him rather than what he had done for them. They’d appreciated Tommy’s sacrifices but never him.

“I’m so tired,” Tommy muttered into his chest plate, and Techno ached for his little brother.

Wilbur had been tired, too. And then he’d asked their father to kill him.

“Me, too, Toms, but we’ll get through it together, alright?”

Tommy was quiet, but the nod against his breast felt like a new start.

* * *

The pink-haired man glanced out of the window, and Tommy scrambled up to another, leaning his head out to peek at the flash of green disappearing into the snow-covered trees. “He didn’t even see my tower!”

The hybrid glanced back at him, stepping away from his own window to stare at the ugly building standing just outside his house that Tommy had cobbled together only a day before.

Techno pushed away thoughts of frosty winds and frozen tears too high in the sky.

Tommy turned his head and giggled, the adrenaline and panic fading as he assured himself all was well now, and caught sight of the deadpan expression Techno threw him. But the feared warrior was still his brother, Blood God or not, and so the blonde easily recognized the glint of fond amusement in his red and black eyes as they rolled.

“It’s so obvious that you’re here.”

* * *

“You might recognize it, but I wasn’t here when this was important.”

Tommy furrowed his brow as he and his eldest brother splashed through the sewers beneath L’manberg, shoes soaking through and hands sliding along the stone walls that would be otherwise smooth if it weren’t for the grit they left behind on his palms.

When they turned the corner and Tommy saw black stone, déjà vu clawed at him, and it was a sickening sort that made his vision red. It was not a red that made him strong or desperate but a red that sent him back to feeling weak and helpless as Dream’s mask reflected dark light and a sword sliced his throat open with such swift efficiency that the pain was just as beautiful as it was painful; Tommy recalled watching the puddle rapidly expand beneath his broken body, its glimmer mocking him, as the blood poured from his throat while his friends’ dying screams echoed even after he left to face the void of respawn.

He could never forget Eret’s triumph, and it was all too much the reason why he spat on the man’s regret and reach for redemption. It did not matter if the traitor hated himself and his actions, if he hoped for forgiveness, because Tommy could never give it; he’d like to think he would if he could (he had too little friends anymore).

Techno had not yet turned around, had yet to acknowledge the sudden hitch in his companion’s breath. “Something about...” he glanced at the sign, “a final control room?”

“No, no, no, no,” Tommy muttered, and he felt like he was drifting between present and past. He wasn’t quite sure if he was talking to Techno or himself. His chest was still there, his name etched into the front, beckoning him to check for a hope that did not exist. “We‘ve got to go, we’ve got to go, we’ve got to go, got to go, got to go—“

Techno turned, stiff and frozen in the face of what he recognized as a panic attack, and stepping forward, he reached a gentle hand out. “What happened here, Tommy?”

Breathing uneven and too bitter in his lungs, Tommy spun on his heel, armor feeling too heavy and too warm; it reminded him of the enchanted fire that some of his people (because Wilbur may have believed and led, but Tommy had sacrificed so much, too much, for the people who had claimed L’manberg as their own to be anything but  _ his _ people—but was he  _ theirs_?) had succumbed to in that room.

He fled, muttering under his breath and feeling like a mouse under the eyes of a hawk as Techno’s steps followed behind him; he did not think of Techno, though, he thought of Dream in his netherite and chasing after him if he’d ever managed to escape that god awful room, or was it Logstedshire?—

He wanted to scream, but he was hyperventilating; he picked up his pace instead.

“Tommy!” Techno was shouting, and Tommy turned around to glance behind him, but it made him stumble enough for the hybrid to catch up. “Why are you so scared of that room, Tommy? What happened?”

Tommy quivered under the raspy monotone, layered with the thinnest hints of concern, and tried to reach past the illusions that threatened to take him back to the moments he became something other than a child: a soldier.

“I can’t face that yet,” he whispered, and it felt empty even to himself; he felt hollow and worn and too close to how he felt when he was standing over the lava, when he balanced atop his shoddy pillar towering over the decimation of Logstedshire, when he questioned his will to live above Techno’s house on the edge of his cobblestone tower that used to bring him comfort when Wilbur was still alive and L’manberg was still itself. He still couldn’t breathe, and he hated that he felt comforted by it. “Please, please, I need Dream, I need my friend, he’ll help me, please don’t hurt me, Dream, I’m sorry—“

“Nobody heals in a day, Tommy,” Techno murmured, but the hybrid knew his brother was gone by then and pushed the boy to the wet ground so he couldn’t collapse on his feet. 

He followed suit, kneeling down to gather the smaller boy to his chest tightly. He ignored the voices that called for blood, the coil in his gut, the pain in his chest, the ache that nestled itself behind his ribs and weighed him down; he sat there quietly and listened to Tommy’s sobs echo through the tunnels.

He didn’t let go, and he didn’t make a sound as he cradled his little brother’s unconscious body all the way out of the sewers once it was over.

He certainly did not acknowledge the wetness on his cheeks as he and Tommy vanished from L’manberg under the cloak of invisibility.

* * *

“I miss Wilbur.”

“Do you?” Techno tapped the glass bottle on his brewing stand, scowling as the mixture’s color separated. “Expired. Great,” he muttered absentmindedly as he pulled the bottles out and poured them into his cauldron to toss later. He took this chance to focus on Tommy, the blonde lying on the floor, face up on his back and gangly limbs spread about. “He was with you during exile, right? Or some of it?”

“Sure,” Tommy agreed, and he chewed his tongue at the memory of having woken up one day only to find out he’d been abandoned, again, by the one person who seemed to tolerate even the worst of personalities. “But Wilbur and Ghostbur are two different people.”

Perhaps Tommy was just that unloveable.

Techno hummed as he replaced his ingredients and watched them drain into the bottles. As he waited, he glanced at Tommy. “I miss him, too, I guess.” The hybrid mindlessly ran a hand through his long hair, the messy ponytail and loose strands being disturbed by the careless attention. “He would braid it all the time. I do it well enough myself but,” he huffed the breath of a laugh, “Will always managed to do it so efficiently, gracefully. I was a little jealous, sometimes.”

“Big Man Blade admitting to not being good at something?” Tommy mocked, and his teeth were bared in a smile but Techno wasn’t fooled by the act; his brother’s eyes lacked any spark. As it was, the smile fell quickly, a solemn or perhaps contemplative expression sliding into place. “It was probably all that guitar, maybe. ‘Nimble fingers,’ he said.” Tommy barked out one of his usual obnoxious laughs, but it was a bit too wet. “Self-conceded bastard. But, hey,” he tilted his head back against the floor, “Ghostbur would probably still be able to do your hair if you asked, ya’ know? He remembers happy things. Or I could?”

Techno snorted and resisted the urge to ruffle the blond’s hair, returning his eyes to his potions. “You’d pull it all out, you aggressive little gremlin.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” Tommy grumbled angrily, but the blond’s anger had always been a loud, blustered kind of rage, a heat without flame and passion without truth. He was a kid who used noise to communicate and anger as a defense.

Once upon a time, Techno would have said that Tommy was the definition of all bark, no bite. But Tommy had bite, and just because the boy’s bark usually never came with retribution did not mean the blond had no wrath. The Blood God knew that, often times, when Tommy truly was angry, when he was stalking and preparing to lash out and take his dues, the boy was quieter than ever.

There was a reason Tommy’s silence drew concerns after all these years. Techno was still not over the ever-growing quiet contemplation Tommy had adopted, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever grow past the unease of it; instead, he hoped Tommy would grow out of it (heal from it).

“Besides,” Techno threw out offhandedly and didn’t meet the boy’s eyes as he tapped a bottle; the colors didn’t retreat from each other, swirling together, but he did not feel any satisfaction, “it wouldn’t be the same; you’re right in that aspect. Wilbur would have given me shit, but Ghostbur won’t.”

“You want him to give you shit?”

“It’d be better, wouldn’t it?”

Tommy’s silence spoke louder than any agreement he could have given his brother, and when it went on for too long, Techno turned to check on him. He was a bit jarred when he was met with a grin from the blond.

“You just said I was right.”

This kid, always giving him a way out in the most annoying way possible.

Techno rolled his eyes. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day, devil child.”

* * *

“You know how I said I could braid your hair?”

Techno glanced up from his book towards his little brother, cocking an eyebrow. “I thought we already agreed that was a horrible idea.”

“ _You_ did,” Tommy muttered, running his fingers through the mess of pale yellow on his head, passing through strands that reached that bottom of the back of his neck. “My hair’s getting longer, innit?”

Techno grunted but acknowledged the point. Techno may have cleaned the boy up when he was unconscious, but he hadn’t cut the kid’s hair (he’d never admit he was a little afraid of getting too near the boy with a sharp object only for him to wake and panic again). It’d been long due to his isolation in exile, where it grew uninterrupted, and it’d only grown more since Tommy had come to live with him.

“Yeah, but you don’t know the first thing about cuttin’ hair.” He narrowed his eyes pointedly at the blond. “Or braiding it.”

“No,” he admitted shamelessly, “but I don’t really feel like cutting it, ya’ know? I kind of like it, but I should probably learn how to keep it out of my face, right?”

Techno blinked once, twice, then set his book in his lap. “Are you tellin’ me you want me to teach you how to style your hair?”

“Just braid,” the teen argued, pouting grumpily at Techno’s blandly incredulous expression. “I already know how to do ponytails and shit, from when we were kids. But Wilbur always did the braiding shit, and I always thought it was too hard, but you also didn’t want me tangling it, so—“

“Toms,” Techno interrupted, and Tommy winced at the abrupt monotone that cut off his rambling; the hybrid noticed but didn’t comment on it for the kid’s sake. “Chill, would you? I never said I wouldn’t teach you. Just didn’t expect it out of you, is all.”

“Shut up, you pink pig prick,” Tommy grumbled, and Techno couldn’t help but burst into a round of laughter at the absolute offended expression on his youngest brother’s face. The boy’s cheeks puffed up like an angry squirrel. “I said shut it, dickhead!”

It reminded both brothers of better times, happier, simpler times, when there wasn’t spilt blood separating them, betrayal warping them, war breaking them. They imagined if Phil stood in the corner, smiling indulgently at them instead of locked away in L’manberg, if Wilbur was sitting in a corner trying to tune his guitar and yelling at them to quit it with their obnoxious bickering so he could hear his cords instead of floating about with no loyalty strong enough for him to protect his family and no love concrete enough to prevail above all of the hurt and pain that he didn’t remember.

* * *

Tommy felt his breath catch in his throat.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Tommy.”

Dream’s voice washed over him, and it made Tommy sway the same way it made him sick. He struggled to swallow the lump in his throat, shield tucked tight to his body as he fought not to shake. 

“Don’t be scared, Tommy,” Techno murmured next to him, and the blond wanted to scream. Of course he wasn’t!

He didn’t want to be.

“I got one of your discs back,” Dream told him, as casual as one would talk about the weather, conversational like one would give news to a friend. “Got it from Skeppy.”

“Do you really?” Tommy couldn’t help but ask. The discs had been the things that had started this whole mess, and sometimes he felt like giving up on them now would let it be over; sometimes he felt like giving up on them now would mean all of the pain he’d suffered since the war for independence would be for nothing. 

He was tired, but he didn’t want it to be for nothing, not if he was going to live like Techno told him to. 

“I do,” Dream assured, sincere and genuine in a way he’d also been with Tommy, the smug, mocking undertone insisting his superiority and amusement at watching those beneath him flail.

“Tubbo has the other,” Tommy muttered to his brother, and Techno nodded.

“There are two, then?”

“Mellohi and Cat,” he whispered. “Those discs are where the conflict started, and that’s where it ends.” He bit his lip, frowning. “I’m Mr. Problem,” he admitted, as quietly as humanly possible, but the hybrid’s ears picked it up easily. 

“The bastard stole from a kid ‘cause he was power hungry.” Techno snorted, casting an ugly eye towards Dream, who he knew had heard most of their conversation. “Sounds like he’s Mr. Problem.”

“Now, Tommy—“

“You manipulated me,” the teen accused, stepping forward, a burst of grief and rage lending him confidence. 

“Tommy, I was your friend,” Dream soothed, like talking to a wounded animal or naive child. “I was the only one who visited you.” 

Tommy’s mind spun, lips opening and closing as he fought to argue. But his mind was still fucked, and he was still confused. Dream had been the only source of comfort in his isolation, no matter the amount of abuse he’d dished out. Physical or emotional, Dream was the only reprieve from pain, no matter how temporarily. 

“But you were terrible! You—you—!”

“You betrayed me!” Dream snapped, sword in hand and lashing downwards. Tommy flinched back. “You left, and now you’re here! Where you’re not allowed! You had a hostage, Tommy! You’re just causing problems all over again! I tried to help you, tried to fix you, but you haven’t changed!”

And Tommy was sick of being blamed. He was sick of being used, of people trying to tell him what to do, to change him. Dream had been his enemy simply because he’d been open about his hatred for Tommy’s deafness towards his demands. But everyone had been like that, hadn’t they? Wanting something out of him and hating anything else they didn’t like, didn’t agree with? 

Not for the first time, Tommy questioned who his friends were. Not for the first time, Tommy was over it.

“You visited me, sure,” he agreed, blunt and possibly aggressive, “but you did it to watch me. You kicked me out of L’manberg because I’m the only person who goes against you and calls you out on your shit! You wanted me out of your way, and you tried to fuck with my head so that I could never oppose you again. And I’ll admit it nearly worked, but the moment you blew up Logstedshire, your plan failed. You got cocky, got sloppy, and moved too quick.”

“Tommy—“

“You know what, Dream?” The child soldier leaned forward, shield back down at his side, and glowered. “I think you’re scared of me. That’s what my exile was about: containing me.”

Beside him, Technoblade grinned.

Dream was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, it was hard and had a finality in it that told both brothers of not only anger but humiliation and fear. “Listen, Tommy. You’re going to come with me,” he stepped forward menacingly, like a predator playing with its food, “or I’m going to burn your disc.”

“Well, that’s going to be a bit of a problem, Dream,” Techno interjected, stepping forward as he pointed his loaded crossbow at the man’s head threateningly, “because this guy’s with me.”

Tommy felt his heart skip a beat as his eyes went wide. For some reason, the blond hadn’t expected that. 

“You sure about that?”

Techno nodded firmly, glancing back at Tommy. “I am. This is...a business agreement. We’re working for our own...mutual benefits. So I can’t really let you have him.

“Unless, of course...you want to call in that favor?”

Tommy felt dizzy suddenly, and he imagined being handed over to his abuser, imagined Dream’s hands on him once more, imagined the bruises on his wrists and fractured ribs, imagined Dream’s mask staring down at him as he cradled Tommy in his arms and pet his hair until the boy felt like bugs were crawling under his flesh.

Tommy could hear his voice tremble as he asked, “What favor?”

“Quiet, Tommy. The adults are speaking.”

Tommy couldn’t get his mouth to open again, couldn’t get his tongue to unglue from the roof of his mouth. 

“No,” Dream said, “I—I think I’ll keep it, if you’re sure.” He turned his mask to the child just behind Techno’s shoulder. “You’re off the hook for now, Tommy.”

“You know what, Dream?” Tommy moved until he was feet away from Dream, his quivering hands now only withholding the urge to lash out, to claw at the man and tear his mask away to rip his eyes out of his skull until they were mush in his palms, to watch his expressions become beholden to the world, for him to witness the monster beneath the facade. “Go fuck yourself.”

Dream didn’t reply, instead standing perfectly still as he stared at Tommy through his mask. The blond waited for a blow, waited to be spat at or beat, but he only felt a hand on his shoulder guide him to the portal and then they were gone.

“Were you really going to sell me out?” Tommy rasped, feeling worn out and uncertain. He glanced at Techno’s face, trying to understand if he was being lied to again. 

“Dream makes his moves carefully,” Techno told him. “He wouldn’t have asked for you, that’s why I said it—I knew he wouldn’t take it.”

The loud whirs of the portal broke the silence of the Nether, zombie pigmen snorting below them as the sounds of magma cubes echoed in the distance. “And if he had?”

Techno stared at Tommy before tucking his crossbow away and reaching up to remove the boar skull from his head, clipping it to his belt so it hung on his hip. “I believe in absolute reciprocity, Tommy. Karma owes that green bastard too many of his dues that have not been paid. I owe Dream a favor, and I promise to repay it. He’ll get what he is owed.”

* * *

“I got you something.”

Tommy glanced up from where he was rummaging through his chests. They were down underneath Techno’s basement, the place he’d been huddling for a while before his brother had discovered him (“I could smell someone dyin’ down there, Tommy, and I was waitin’ to find the suffering body of a thief, but I don’t like that it was you.”)

“For me?” He shut the lid of the chest and stood up, eyeing his brother.

“Yes, for you,” Techno promised, part teasing and part sincere. He opened his inventory and pulled two items out: a green helmet and an unfamiliar disc.

Reaching out carefully, Tommy took the helmet into his hands, running his fingers along the etched enchantments inside the shell with his name carved below them. 

“Disc, too,” Techno promoted, and Tommy tucked the helmet away in his inventory to accept the disc. “I know how much you like your music discs, so—“

Tommy gasped loudly. “Wait!” Shifting in his spot, he turned to scramble up the ladder, nearly knocking his brother off of his feet in the process. “Oh my goodness, Technoblade!”

Below him, the sound of Techno’s chuckles followed, and the blond’s cheeks hurt from his grin. He pushed himself up out of the hole, hurrying up to the first floor, shouting, “If there was a hug button, I would press it! Holy shit!”

“There is not a hug button,” Techno’s voice argued, a bit thrown off, and he popped his head out of the hole to his basement as Tommy hauled a jukebox out of one of his double chests, racing out of the doors. “I’m pressing the boundaries button.”

Tommy didn’t stop laughing, and Techno couldn’t help the eruption of his own as he traipsed outside after the boy. “We’ll listen to it together,” Techno said, and it was the happiest he’d seen the teen since he’d dragged him out of the snow.

“Rap! Rap!” Tommy cheered as he placed the disc into the box.

Techno sighed fondly. “It’s not rap, Toms.”

“Do it anyway!”

Indulgently, Techno began to bleat to the tune of the music, and he’d have felt like some part of his dignity was lost if it didn’t make Tommy light up like it did.

They’d done this once before. It’d been a late night outside their childhood home, with fireflies and a bonfire, and Tommy had dragged his jukebox out to the backyard to play music. The youngest had rapped horribly while Techno followed the beat with bleats and grunts, and Phil had sat on the back porch, lost in hysterics. Wilbur had humored them just long enough to set them at ease before stealing the disc and fleeing. Tommy spent the next half hour chasing Wilbur back and forth across the grass, screaming obscenities at the elder, both nearly falling into the flames twice and once knocking the stick Techno had been roasting a marshmallow with into the fire; he’d tripped Wilbur for that one, sending him sprawling face first.

It was a miracle the disc hadn’t broken.

“This is when we start dancing!” Tommy insisted, jumping up and down, flailing his too-long limbs as though anything of that regard was considered so.

Techno fought a smile and followed, anyway.

* * *

**Present Day**

_Burn them all to hell. _

If someone were to ask, Tommy couldn’t tell them what had happened next. He saw Techno’s blood drip too close to his shoes, the axe that was lodged in the hybrid’s gut, and everything else was red from then on.

He thought he heard a scream (it sounded like him), but he couldn’t be sure. He just knew his hands became warm, and it was harder to hold onto the sword that threatened to slip between wet fingers. Arms braced around his waist (he did not know who or what their intent had been), and he recalled fighting the hold. 

He remembered more cries, more shouting and sobs that made his head hurt thinking about it at all. He saw flashes of other color behind the red: green and purple and pink and blue and white. He saw faces, too, but it was like a dream: he knows he saw them but they do not register looking back; it was blank, warped at best.

When he returned to himself, he noticed a lot of blood on the wood he was standing on. Bodies were strewn around, Techno’s included, but Tommy knew nothing about his brother’s life count. For all he knew, the body would not vanish within the hour it should.

What he did know was that Tubbo was limp off to the side, staring at him with wide, horrified eyes as he clutched onto a wounded hand that Tommy somehow knew was missing a finger or two, and Dream, his mask now cracked with nearly half of the plaster missing, had the axe that had been in his eldest brother’s gut moments ago to his throat; he could still see the blood from his peripheral, though the smell of it was lost in the scent of carnage already existing.

“You’ve caused enough trouble,” Dream sneered, angry and righteous in all the wrong ways. “You should have died that day at the portal, but I showed you mercy and then you come back to spit on it like this? Burning down the community house, blaming me and everyone else for your problems, and lying about it? Killing us?”

“You tried to kill me,” Tommy hissed, and he didn’t know if he was talking about Logstedshire or when he came to Techno’s house or now; perhaps it was some other time or all of them. “You manipulated me, and now you’re doing it to everyone else! You’re the liar, Dream! Now you’ve killed Techno! You fucking turned my friends against me—“

He felt like something was lost. Whether it was his sanity or life or everything that had once been did not matter; he was driven by the strangest urge to destroy everything, and Wilbur had done that, too. Perhaps it was the same thing.

“ _You_ turned your friends against you,” Dream spat, smiling cruelly when Tommy flinched back. It only made the blond’s resolve harder when he glared back. “That’s why I was the only one left, but I’m done with you causing issues.”

“Fuck you!” Tommy gripped his weapon tighter when Dream hauled his axe back to swing, all of Techno’s training coming to the forefront as he shifted to block it. He was pushed back on his feet from the force, but he grinned, ridiculously pleased by the slight shock he could see behind the cracked mask. “Fight me, bitch.”

Dream pulled his axe back once more, and Tommy was on him, swinging and pivoting to avoid blows similarly dealt. His head was still fuzzy, though, lost in the brushing waves of uneasy confusion that still clouded the shore of his mind, asking him when the bodies had dropped and why Tubbo had been so scared.

Techno was closely matched with Dream, just beating him out on his best days, but Tommy was no Technoblade, and with his clouded state of mind, that was more than enough for the masked man. The blond was knocked off of his feet easily, and suddenly a burning pain over his eye had him screaming.

He curled over and clutched at it, feeling the blood against his skin as it dripped through his fingers. He glanced up to stare at the figure hovering over him, his doom that Dream had decided he’d be so long ago.

Tommy hated it. He’d have preferred to die on his own terms, even down in that damp hole he’d made for himself by his brother’s blade, than to the one person who’d made it his mission to control everything and everyone around Tommy. Now he was going to choose his death day, his fate, too.

_ “It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy.” _

Of course Dream would decide that, the control freak, the power-hungry bastard. 

“Do it,” Tommy goaded, grinning at the impassive look above him. “If you don’t, I certainly will.”

“Dream, don’t!” He heard Tubbo shout from the side, and the warmth of it ached.

It was too late, though, for him and Tubbo.

He turned his head, anyway, and gave his best friend (was he anymore? He hoped, but it all seemed so messed up. Why couldn’t Tubbo have just believed him?) a smile, not malicious or manic but sincere and regretful; an apology without words and forgiveness without debt.

Tubbo screamed as the axe sunk with a sickening crunch into Tommy’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I’m a horrible person. You’re welcome.


	3. tread carefully upon the graves you make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy is given a choice and makes his decision.
> 
> He can’t fuck this up, not like everything else he’s ever touched.

When Techno woke with phantom pain in his gut, he wasted no time stumbling out of his bed, filling his inventory with potions and a sword, forgoing the process of equipping armor, and sprinting outside, hauling himself onto Carl and rushing to the desolation of Logstedshire, where a portal straight to L’manberg still remained.   
  
He pulled out his communicator halfway there, texting Phil a swift, “ _Hurry to L’manberg’s community house. Now._ ” He tucked it away, not waiting for a reply, for which there was no time.  


He and Carl reached the portal in minutes and leapt through the swirling colors, Techno ducking his head so he didn’t hit it at the top of the frame and Carl pushing forth once more the moment his hooves hit the cobblestone pathway.   


He swung himself off of the horse, tying his precious steed to a post inside the hub (no mobs would hurt him), and launched himself through the portal to L’manberg, ignoring the inevitable dizziness that traveling dimensions caused as he sprinted down the blackstone steps towards the community house.  
  
He saw the bodies first, blood and corpses strewn about like rag dolls, then Tubbo, off to the side and shaking. None of it made sense, but that didn’t make a difference when he saw Dream swinging his netherite axe down onto his little brother’s neck.   
  
Tubbo screamed into the silence, but it didn’t quite cover the echo of bones being crushed and flesh being penetrated, the sight of blood spraying grotesquely onto the murderer’s weapon and face. It happened so quickly, Techno couldn’t even open his mouth before it was over, Tommy’s body still and lifeless unlike the very person he was supposed to be, his throat jaggedly and gapingly open from the harsh hack of Dream’s axe; his head wasn’t quite severed from his shoulders, but it might have been kinder, less horrifying.

”No!” Tubbo sobbed, loud and shattered as he jumped up to cradle his best friend’s corpse. He grabbed him by the limp shoulders and ignored the stumps on his own hand that had started spitting blood again, shaking him as though he’d wake up, tears staining his own bloody cheeks. “Tommy!” His voice cracked. “Tommy, please!”

Techno felt sick, watching the child President shake his best friend’s dead body with the desperation that came with hopelessness; the blond’s head was rolling dangerously, and he was waiting for it to detach from the precarious muscles and skin it was still connected by.

He wanted to kneel next to Tubbo and pull him away, wanted to take Tommy’s body in his arms and hold him tightly all the way back home, wanted Phil to hug him so they could mourn together, wanted Wilbur to still be alive and _Wilbur_ so he could grieve instead of forget.

But he wanted Dream’s head in his hands and heart in his teeth more. 

_Blood for the blood god!_

_E! E! E!_

_Justice! Revenge!_

_Vengeance!_

_Hold the baby! Pet the baby!  
  
Oh, no, the baby! Precious baby!_

_Off with his head!_

_Deadinnit! Poorinnit!  
_

_Yes, eat his heart! Bathe in his blood!  
  
Sing! Sing!_

Dream brought up his axe to block, decked in gear Techno didn’t have, and threw him back.

”You fucker!” Technoblade roared, nauseous with bloodlust and rage.

“Careful, Techno,” Dream cooed sweetly, wetting his lips that still had Tommy’s blood on them, “I’ll kill you, too, if you’re not careful.”

”Not fucking again, you won’t,” a voice sneered, and then Dream was coughing up blood and falling to his knees, collapsing with a sword through his chest from the back. “Stay the hell away from my kids.”

Techno blinked blearily at his father, who stood menacingly in the spot Dream had just moments before, and finally, when he looked away from the mad man’s body, he met Techno’s eyes, glanced to Tubbo still weeping into the gore of Tommy’s throat, and began to cry himself, noiseless tears dripping down his face.

”I’m sorry,” Techno whispered into the grief-ridden silence, only broken by Tubbo’s muffled sobs.

“It’s not your fault,” Phil promised before making his way over to Tubbo. “Hey, Tubbo...we need to bury him.”

A hoarse mumble of, “I know,” was the boy’s response. “I can...I can carry him.”

”You shouldn’t have to.”

Tubbo’s lip trembled, and he bit it to stop the involuntary movement. Techno moved up to stand beside his father. “We should go before anyone who respawns shows back up.”

Phil nodded and held his arms out for his son. “Tubbo?” The man questioned when Tubbo only clutched his friend tighter to him.

”This is my fault,” Tubbo murmured. “I was a selfish asshole who was too scared to do anything other than look the other way, and he’s dead because of it.”

”Tubbo—“

”Let me come with you.”

Techno couldn’t say he was surprised. After having Tommy with him for so long, he’d come to better understand the trauma that had been derived from war; Tubbo would not have escaped the brunt of it either (he thought of fireworks from his crossbow, of the eyes on him and voices in his head). 

“You’re the President,” Techno said, dull but sharp, more emotion than he’d ever portrayed to anyone but his family. 

He didn’t dare look at his littlest brother’s corpse.

”I fucked it up,” Tubbo admitted, “and I never liked it. It’s messed up everything, Tommy and I most of all. I...I can’t stay here and act like I’m in control here anymore. Tommy...he’s dead. I can’t fix that, but I can’t stay here and pretend either. I did that when he was in exile, and it was wrong; he was fucking suicidal and I never—“ The kid put a hand over his mouth, another wave of tears washing over him. “I can’t do that again, not to him. All this country has ever caused us was pain.”

Techno nodded carefully and stepped back so Tubbo and Phil could stand. “Carl’s inside the portal. I can...we can take Tommy on him.”

The group left, swift and silent into the night that had befallen the day. When they arrived back at Techno’s house, they dug a grave despite the cold that already nipped at their nerves.   


Nobody slept that night in the Arctic, only thoughts of Dream’s still-breathing person miles away where he’d respawned and preparations for war in their heads.

(In the shadows creeping in around the destruction of the community house, a ghost with blood on his yellow sweater watched them leave and _remembered_.)

* * *

Tommy stared at the black void around him and knew he’d forgiven Tubbo, no matter the anger he’d held when screaming at him.

Tubbo had been manipulated like everyone else by Dream, forced to exile him or condemn the rest of their friends. He didn’t know why he didn’t visit, didn’t like that it had been him who’d been thrown under the bus, but that could be forgiven with everything else they’d suffered together.

(The fireworks in Tubbo’s chest that produced burn scars forever marring him and the faint mark of a sword’s swipe in Tommy’s side from Techno after pearling onto the stage and screaming himself hoarse; the blade’s width scar that spanned Tommy’s cheek and under his chin from Wilbur’s insanity-induced rage that had last only for a moment and Wilbur had cried over but something Tommy would never forget and the bruises along Tubbo’s throat and wrists that he would carry back to Pogtopia as a gift from Schlatt; the cold pale mar from a sword spanning the front and back of Tubbo’s sternum from the final control room and the arrow mark in the dip of Tommy’s throat from Dream’s bow with a similar one to match Tubbo’s over his lower back and stomach by Dream’s blade. They both had scraped knuckles that would never heal and heavy aches inside that would never fade; they’d cried into each other’s shoulders in the deepest shadows of Pogtopia’s ravine and on their bench in L’manberg inside the latest nights when no moon or light was left to paint them as targets.)

Tommy could not betray Tubbo without yearning for forgiveness, and he knew by Tubbo’s plead for his life that he had given it. He had no choice but to return the favor and understand that the responsibility Tubbo resided over had broken him just as exile had Tommy.

Their bond was never something either boy had questioned, had ever doubted or taken for granted. Tommy wasn’t about to start now, even going as he was into the arms of death. 

He wondered if he’d see Wilbur—not Ghostbur—if he would be the one to take him to whatever afterlife existed. He hoped, mostly, that he would not remain in the respawn void forever. If so, he hoped it provided eternal sleep.

It was then that the respawn letters materialized in front of him, and Tommy froze in shock. He’d been on his last life. There certainly hadn’t been a miscount; he vividly remembered his deaths, of being here twice before.

But when the letters had faded into their solid state and organized correctly, it did not give him the option to respawn. Instead the letters read:

  
_Go Back_

or

_Choose Death_

“Not ominous at all,” Tommy muttered, the words making no noise to any ears, even his own, inside the void. 

“Go Back” was not the same thing as respawn, he knew, or it would read the same. If he were younger, had less regrets, the connotations would fly right over his head, but the words only reminded him of happier times, of smiles and laughs and innocence that could never be returned nor, bitterly enough, forgotten.

_ Go back.  _

It sounded like a chance at redemption, and if it wasn’t, what else could it be? It wouldn’t hurt anyone but possibly himself to take the shot.

He’d stopped caring about hurting a long time ago, lest he go insane. Perhaps that was why he’d not fallen asleep and yet had woken to bodies back in L’manberg right before Dream had offed him. Perhaps he’d started to care, and everything had been too much all at once to take.

Perhaps that was the path Wilbur had taken on the way to his downfall.

(The burning on his cheek when Wilbur had lashed out, the blood dripping down the open line from under his eye and beneath his chin, and his brother’s immediate regret, the careful hands that patted the blood away with water and one of the too-limited healing pots to be using on a cut; the trembling form of Tubbo leaning against the remains of the community house, soaked to the bone by the water running over the remnants, as he clutched his mangled hand, the one with missing fingers that Tommy now knew he had taken in his brief retreat from reality into bloodlust.)

But he was tired, like Wilbur had been when he’d chosen death. Would he come back like Ghostbur, if he chose to die? Would he forget like him? Tommy didn’t like the thought of it, knowing that all he’d receive upon return was contempt and hatred from everyone besides Tubbo, whom he knew would show him his stumps only if he asked and joke about how he needs a new hand every once in a while now, even if the joke didn’t quite fit.

Tommy was a selfish kid, despite being something of a selfless soldier all too regularly. If he was able to go back, would he want to? He had regrets he’d never wanted to exist, but working to change them was harder than wishing for them to never be in the first place, and he was already dreaming of the peace potentially ahead.

But then he thought of Tubbo, scarred and traumatized just like him with the guilt of a self-destructive nation and now a dead best friend and citizens; of Wilbur, gone by the blade of his own father and oblivious in ways that could not be happiness when he didn’t even know what he’d done or who he was; of Techno, life stolen by Dream’s hands after saving Tommy’s life and never knowing how much he appreciated everything he’d done for him with chances of never respawning again; of Phil, who now had two dead sons and possibly a third; of L’manberg, who, despite their differences and the suffering its citizens had caused him, were still people, still traumatized in their own way, and deserved a second chance.

With a deep breath lacking air, Tommy made his choice.

_Selected: Go Back_

* * *

He awoke under a tree, the light piercing through the leaves burning his eyes, and he pushed himself up, mildly surprised by the lack of injuries, to study his surroundings.

For better or for worse, Tommy recognized the area and knew he was only just outside of L’manberg’s walls. That meant the country had already been established, though how far into the first war for independence or further ahead they were, he had no clue.

He reached up to his eye that had been injured just before he’d been killed, prodding the wound. Completely healed, Tommy thought in bewilderment, but he already knew just by looking around that his left eye was mostly blind now. He could see the occasional flash of light and motion through it, but it was far beyond what glasses could fix. Thankfully, it seemed that when he’d been hit, most of the axe had missed the skin surrounding his eye, leaving only small tapering scars in the creases around the socket.

He couldn’t know if his eye was hazy or not, but at least the injury itself wasn’t another large scar that would draw attention if anyone glanced at him. He knew that if he didn’t look anyone in the eye and kept at a distance, nobody would recognize him off the bat. Unfortunately, they’d be curious enough to come say hello, and Tommy wasn’t sure what he’d do once they recognized him; he wouldn’t even know where to begin once they asked.

How was he going to do this? Why had he chosen to be selfless again? All it got him was a headache.

If the newest injury hadn’t tipped him off that he was still in his own body, everything else about him had: older, the feeling of his scars pulling as he moved, and his demeanor not quite present-Tommy enough to pull off pretending, even if he managed to fool people despite his altered appearance.

He opened his inventory and blinked in surprise to realize all three lives were back—but they were glitched, shaking and fizzing into pixels despite the bright red that meant they were his to use.

He wondered what it meant and resolved not to try and figure it out.

He also noticed that all of his weapons and belongings were still with him (he wondered what everybody back in his timeline thought about his body being empty—did it disappear? He didn’t know).

It wasn’t his sword or extra armor that drew his attention, not even Techno’s treasured Axe of Peace, but the turtle helmet and disc Techno had gifted him. He pulled them out for a brief moment, fingering the grooves in the disc and the carvings in the helmet, before tucking them away and wondering if the items in his enderchest would still appear, if it would be present-Tommy’s items instead, or if there would be nothing at all.

His first task was getting into L’manberg, and entering undetected wouldn’t be a problem with the potions he still had on his person. He selected an invisibility pot, shaking the magic briefly and checking to be sure it was the longest-lasting one in his collection. Reassured, he shuffled as close to the wall as he could get and downed the contents of the bottle, feeling the tingly effects of invisibility wash over him. He returned the empty bottle to his inventory (it was useless now, but he didn’t want anyone finding it discarded outside the walls). He glanced down at his hand, finding it missing, and pulled out a pick to break through the wall for entry. It’d be less conspicuous than walking through the front despite the inability to see him.

Some people could pick out particle effects with barely a glance, like Techno—like  _Dream_.

Fury burned under his skin, boiling his blood until it bubbled and popped, searing the flesh beneath and making him itch to slice a blade through the man’s jugular or beat him until he was bloody and disfigured, face dismantled and skull caved in.

He’d never felt like this before, but perhaps that was what repressing trauma did, what realizing how much he’d been fucked over made him feel. He just wanted it to be over, and if that meant killing anyone who threatened that peace, then so be it.

He thought of Wilbur, of the path he’d gone down, and wondered if what he was doing was right. Then he remembered that Wilbur had stopped caring about his people when he’d lost himself, and Tommy was doing this  _for_ them.

Even if those who resided in L’manberg had never cared (he didn’t believe that, not truly; they were all lost kids trying to be happy, even if some of them were more literal in that definition than others), they were still his people. He and Wilbur had founded L’manberg, and with Wilbur dead and gone in his time, he’d failed to step up—just for some music discs that were so dear to him due to the memories they represented, the symbol of the love the people around him had for him.

But that was gone, and it’d been his fault. He’d given Dream the power over them in the first place, and he wished he’d come to terms with that sooner. More than ever, he truly felt like a child.

It was time to grow up, he knew, or more like it was time for him to stop pretending to be the child he hadn’t been for a long, long time. 

As he patched up the hole in L’manberg’s walls, he took notice of the peace inside, and as he wandered through, still avoiding the more open areas of the land, he caught sight of the large wooden stand which had been built for the elections. Heart racing, he noticed it was still in the midst of being constructed.

He could stop Schlatt. He could stop Wilbur and his younger self from being exiled, stop Tubbo from being executed, prevent the war, prevent the Withers. He could fix this before it started.

The real question was, “How?” He could burst out of the crowd in a dramatic reveal, but it might only cause confusion and fear. He could start other problems before preventing the new ones. If Schlatt managed to enact anything before Tommy could stop it, he might be attacked and run out before anyone else.

He needed a plan, and he needed one fast.

That train of thought led to another, and he thought of Sam, who pledged allegiance to him during the revolution against Manberg, promised him shelter if anything went sideways, and helped him build a TNT launcher for the dramatic entrance he’d never gone through with. He thought of how he trusted him with the knowledge of his secret bunker, one not yet built, he mourned; he thought of the last thing Sam had said to him the last time Tommy saw him, with open arms, sympathy, and undeserved kindness.

_ “I know you’re sent away, and I’m sorry. But when you need someone, you know where to find me. My place is far away from all of them. You can come hide with me if you need a place to stay, Tommy. I’ll find you. Stay safe...I see this place tearing itself apart.” _

Sam wanted peace just as much as Tommy did and for far longer. If anyone was going to help Tommy with the right intentions, it would be Sam, and he hoped that if he went too off the rails (Wilbur was always at the back of his mind; he didn’t want to stop caring, not like Wilbur had, not like whatever stranger that had replaced Wilbur did), Sam would be there to help.

He recalled the broken bodies he could see laid around the remains of the community house, knew that it had been his work, and he could not forget that while one of them had _almost_ been Tubbo, one of them  _ had _ ended up being Sam, the creeper mask lying off to the side as man with green hair lied limp in his own blood.

(He didn’t know how many lives Sam had been on either; he decided to hope for the best instead of dwell.)

He couldn’t do this alone, and he knew it. Big Man or not, exile had crushed Tommy, and it was Techno who’d patched the wounds that isolation and Dream had carved into him. It had left scars, and some were still sore and would burn under exposure, but they weren’t bleeding out anymore, at least. If he was going to fix this without fucking it up, he needed more than just himself and his trauma on board.

It had not been this Sam who had offered refuge to Tommy, but he hoped that the willingness to give it had not been rescinded.

Sam still lived in the SMP, though, no hidden base to account for nor a member of the nonexistent Badlands quite yet. L’manberg and the SMP weren’t fighting anymore at this point, but it wasn’t as though tensions weren’t a little tight right after the war. Despite that, Sam had always been rather laid back and neutral, and Tommy already knew he wouldn’t care.

It was the matter of getting into SMP lands—L’manberg not included—and finding Sam alone long enough to talk.

It would be a long talk; after all, he would have a lot of explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy’s gonna kick ass, and you know it.


	4. acquaintances can be old friends, if you look close enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy’s found Sam. Now he’s just got to explain who he is and why he’s come back ten times more fucked up.
> 
> (He doesn’t want to explain that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone watch the Dream SMP Finale? Bro, so many plot twists and references! I legit made myself sick with excitement!

Tommy found Sam rather quickly, a miracle in itself. The man was typically not around a lot, disappearing from the SMP for extended intervals of time and only returning shortly before vanishing once more. He thought of it as a nomad who returned to his home base every once in a while to recoup and reconnect before wandering off again, onto another adventure and new day.

(He thought of the bench, of trading scarves with Tubbo and promises to only trust each other. What if they’d run like Tubbo wanted? What if Tommy had decided to be selfish and run from everyone’s expectations? It ached, the emptiness of not knowing, and only for that did he wish they’d have both died if they’d taken that path.)

Tommy didn’t quite know where Sam went, if he was exploring distant lands or traveling to other servers. Tommy himself had never been whitelisted anywhere else, though he had had SMPEarth for a brief time.

(Once upon a time, history repeated, Techno and Tommy had been on opposite sides; even still, it had never been in more than jest.)

Other servers, public ones, were not meant to live in. They were not homes; they were like amusement parks, where people from all over could play games and compete in challenges, but never could they stay.

Tommy didn’t normally mind, but sometimes he wondered if ending up anywhere other than the SMP could have led to something far less desolate than this. He was treading a sea of unpredictabilities; the moment he’d arrived here, he’d caused ripples in the world big enough to caution reckless risks. He’d have to make moves carefully, play his cards right.

Tommy was not stupid or naive, not so much as others claimed. He’d led wars, after all, and war did not wait for its soldiers to catch up.

He painfully recalled being left behind, back in Logstedshire, not by war but by his brothers and sisters in arms. It hurt, and Tommy subconsciously clutched at the compass looped around his neck, touched the emerald hanging from his ear that Techno had handed him one dark day when he’d found Tommy down beneath his house again, in a hole the hybrid thought long forgotten, rubbing the burn scars along his arms raw against the stone walls as he cried, wanting to peel his own flesh off layer by layer until every touch Dream had bestowed upon him, through flesh and steel and dynamite, was gone.

Techno had offered him new clothes only a few days into his stay, to replace the ones that were torn from arrows and branches, singed by explosions of fire, and dotted in blood from leaking wounds and panic attacks in the snow. Tommy had accepted the outfit that matched his father and brother, and it became a symbol of comfort the longer he stayed rather than simply something to keep the cold from seeping in.

(He appreciated it more after his episode in the hole beneath Techno’s base, the long sleeves of the outfit covering the disfigured flesh that he’d created in an effort to rid himself of the manipulation Dream had tainted him with.)

He found Sam at the community house, ironically enough (the bodies, red in dark green, nobody was waking up but Tommy didn’t notice—), and he watched through the windows, questioning whether opening any doors would backfire. He planned to wait for the man to leave before approaching him, but with a second thought, he glanced around the SMP, noticing nobody about. Other than Sam, no one else occupied the community house either.

It would have to do.

He slipped through the door as quickly as possible, ducking away from it just in case when Sam turned to see who’d entered. He acknowledged the brief confusion on Sam’s face before the man shook it off and returned to his crafting, and Tommy took the moment to strike, sidling up just behind Sam so he could pull his (Techno’s) axe against the flesh of the unsuspecting victim’s throat.

There’d been a lot of sharp edges at throats lately, but at least this one wouldn’t be stained with blood anytime soon (he hoped).

Sam froze, and despite being taller, Tommy managed to pull off the threat without it being awkward. “Invisibility,” the green-haired male muttered, not quite angry and more so confused. “Is this some prank or something? Come on, man, really?”

“Not a prank,” Tommy said, watching around the man’s shoulder with a morbid sort of smugness as his face flickered between his initial confusion and new shock. The blond’s voice had deepened over the years, and he knew that Sam hadn’t interacted with Tommy enough yet to be able to hear the similar nuances and tones. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised, “I just need to talk to you alone and out of the way of prying eyes, yeah?”

“And you couldn’t have just asked?”

“I’m here under a little bit of duress,” Tommy admitted, not budging but not being able to prevent the smile that came from the small joke; it wasn’t like anyone could see it.

“Why me?”

Tommy understood the question. “It just so happens that I need your help. I can explain more elsewhere.”

It was silent for a minute, Sam standing stiffly against the axe centimeters away from his throat. Tommy knew that by this point, the creeper-masked man still had all three lives, but nobody ever wanted to lose one unless necessary.

“Where?”

The question threw him off a little, but Tommy tried to play it off. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, admittedly. “Nether,” the blond decided impulsively and winced immediately after.

He hadn’t been in the Nether since Dream blew up Logstedshire, only three times with Techno, twice for travel and once for netherite hunting (he’d panicked again during their mining expedition, nearly running straight into the lava when a bed had exploded too close, and they had to leave early). Techno had always led him through when they went for travel purposes, steering them clear of any lava as much as possible and making sure to keep his eyes from straying to it.

Going back was going to be hard, especially with someone who was unaware of the trauma Tommy associated it with. He’d have to push through his own intrusive thoughts while there; he could only hope he was ready to do it alone.

“Okay,” Sam tentatively agreed. “Can you put the axe away now?”

“We leave now,” Tommy said instead of replying, still removing the sharp edge from Sam’s throat. The man relaxed, stepping away from the teen’s invisible form to take a breath or two. “Head to the main portal, and we’ll wander a bit farther before I explain.”

Sam began moving near immediately. “You’re not gonna take the potion off?”

“I don’t have milk,” Tommy said, following closely behind on the man’s heels. “Even if I did, I sure wouldn’t expose myself here. I won’t hide if it wears off when we get to the Nether, though.”

Sam nodded, and Tommy’s thoughts raced to occupy the awkward silence until they came out onto the other side of the portal, the heat of the Nether welcoming them, and the man began speaking again. “I didn’t know Dream whitelisted anyone else.”

“He didn’t,” Tommy admitted quietly, adjusting his clothes uncomfortably. They were made for colder weather, all of the thick layers and fur, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Perhaps he’d become desensitized to it after spending so much time here during his exile. “Let’s just say there was a minor glitch in the system that allowed me to slip through the cracks, and here I am. Follow me,” he instructed, re-equipping the Axe of Peace so that Sam could find him. “I have about a minute or two of time left before the invisibility wears off, so we should get away from here.”

Unbeknownst to Sam, Tommy found himself wandering in the direction of his future friend’s secret base out of habit, the man’s presence making things feel all too nostalgic.

“Can I get a name, then?”

Tommy hesitated. Introducing himself as Tommy was off the table, though Tom or Thomas could be played off as just happening to share a name with the young blond back in L’manberg. Still, it made him heavy in a way he didn’t like. Tommy was this bright, innocent kid who’d seen darkness and still laughed in the face of it.

This timeline’s Tommy had yet to see the true horrors of the world, even down one life. He didn’t feel quite right defining himself as another that he wasn’t. He’d been the one to invade this place, after all; it was only right not to put that kind of pressure on himself or this time’s Tommy.

“Theseus,” he told Sam, smiling slightly at the thought of what Techno would think of that. His brother would probably roll his eyes or laugh; it was a toss up with him. “You can call me Theseus.”

“Dramatic,” Sam said, and that was it for a while.

The railway had yet to be built, so it took them some time to reach the distance Theseus wanted. It was before then that the potion wore off, and when the blonde noticed his hand starting to fade back into visibility, he threw his fur-lined hood up, instructing, “Stay behind me,” to Sam as his entire form revealed itself.

“Odd outfit for the Nether,” Sam commented, and Theseus snorted.

“I was staying somewhere in the Arctic previously. It was better than freezing to death. I never went to the Nether much anyway.”

Sam scoffed in disbelief. “Really? You have a netherite axe.”

Theseus shifted the aforementioned weapon in his hand. “I didn’t make it, my brother did. It was a gift, of sorts.” The blond didn’t quite know if Techno had intended for him to keep it. “The Nether makes me feel shit,” he confessed. “Not nice shit either.”

Sam laughed, but Theseus didn’t hold it against him. It sounded like a joke, he knew, and ironically enough, one that would have been on brand for Tommy. “What, you and the piglins have a feud or something?”

“Nah, I just like the lava more than I should,” Theseus told him jokingly, trying to play it off, and felt a little (only a little) bad when Sam went abruptly quiet. Still, he didn’t turn around to check on him, only asking, “You okay? Sorry, that was kind of fucked, huh? Too soon.”

“I mean, if you’re cool with joking about it, I guess it’s not too soon,” Sam assured him, strangely sincere in a way that held a solemnness. “I didn’t mean to...”

“You didn’t,” Theseus reassured, chuckling a bit at the sheepish tone. “I get it, you’re good.”

They reached the intended destination only minutes later, and though it didn’t look like anything special, Theseus still recognized the wall where the hidden portal would be, the stream of lava from the side of the netherrack cavern. Theseus stopped, and Sam followed suit.

“Here, then? Alright.” Sam cocked his head behind the stranger. “You gonna turn around now?”

“I have to warn you that what I look like might be a little...jarring,” Theseus cautioned delicately, preparing himself, too, for what was to come. “Not only that, but I’m not very pretty either.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, bracing himself. “I want that explanation, though, so lay it on me.”

Theseus heaved a sigh, for himself and Sam, then spun on his heel before he lost his nerve, lowering his hood as he did so; it wasn’t worth keeping it up anymore, and it was cooler with it down.

Sam sucked in a breath, taking note of the scar on the young man’s left cheek, from a sword no doubt, that started under his eye and swept down beneath his jaw. His other cheek adorned an explosion of burn scars, melted into a single massive one that covered most of the right side of his face sans his forehead, and the way it disappeared under the collar of his shirt and cloak indicated it went further down. It tapered off into jagged scars, aptly explosive-like, towards the middle of his chin and upper lip. Some of the explosive taper went over the bridge of his nose and down the other left side. Other little scars marred his face, small and hardly noticeable, cracking through his lips or cutting through an eyebrow. Looking closer, Theseus’s right eye was the slightest bit unfocused, a haze of film swimming over it, and the creases around the eye hid thin scars, just wide enough to match the width of the very edge of an axe.

He was blond, obnoxiously so, hair messy and curling around his eyes as it swept over his forehead, with a small braid that just barely reached over his shoulder and electric blue eyes that seemed to stare straight into Sam’s soul as though he already knew him by heart. A compass was slung around his neck, the object resting at the center of his chest, and a single emerald earring hung off his right ear.

None of that was what caused Sam to stumble back, though. It was everything else Theseus’s face was, much too similar to a certain energetic, reckless blond who resided in L’manberg.

“Tommy?” Sam couldn’t help but ask. He could tell the young man wasn’t the child he knew, no matter what he looked like, but the comparisons shook him too harshly for the question not to be pushed.

“Once upon a time,” Theseus confessed, smiling at the wide eyes of the green-haired man. “Not really this timeline’s Tommy anymore, obviously.”

“No shit,” Sam choked out, still struggling to speak. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

“I’ll cut to the chase: I’m from the future where shit went straight to hell. Wilbur fucking died, L’manberg blew up, the government started executing people without trial, and Dream was manipulating everyone so bad that we were all at each other’s throats for no reason other than the ones he made up, and I was the only one who knew it. I got in his way, got my ass exiled from my own damned country for the second time, and then basically became a war criminal trying to fix it and get my discs back. By the time I realized my discs didn’t matter more than the people I cared about, Dream had turned every one of my people against me, killed my oldest brother, and then proceeded to chop my head off.” He shrugged, sighing tiredly. “For some shit reason, I got a choice to fix it, and I took it for the sake of everyone in this time who isn’t quite fucked up yet—including myself.”

Yeah, Sam reminded himself, because this Tommy was suicidal, had more scars than everyone on the server combined, and had already died three times over.

“I...don’t know what to say.”

Theseus huffed, cocking a half smile in the older man’s direction. “Me neither, actually. Isn’t it obvious? I’ve got no fucking clue what the hell I’m going to do, Sam. I know all the shit that’s gonna go down, but I’m stuck wondering how to stop it. I tried, when I had the chance, to fix things before they got real bad; it didn’t work. It never worked.” He laughed, high-pitched and hysterical. “I wonder why I chose to try. I always make things worse.”

Sam got the feeling Tommy—Theseus—had left out a lot of his story. The Tommy he knew was cocky and loud and over confident at the worst of times, with an overbearing bright smile and laughs that were just as aggressive as his cursing. This one, Theseus, was suffering from suicidal thoughts, self-hatred or depreciation of some kind, and had a melancholy air about him that spoke of trauma far worse than the simplicity of his summarized backstory could have caused. If the scars didn’t prove it, then his eyes did, wide yet drawn, vision tainted by the horrors of war and its repercussions.

“You never explained why you came to  me,” Sam told him, pressing gently and uncertainly. “You need help, right? That’s what you said. But why me? Why not Tubbo or Wilbur or  _ anyone _ else in L’manberg?”

“Because even though they made their mistakes and I’ve forgiven them for it—these people, at least—they rallied around me when it was convenient and just as easily left me in the dust. They’re my people, and I want to help them, but I don’t really trust them anymore...not right now.”

“But Wilbur’s the leader?” Sam ran a hand through his hair, adjusted his creeper mask. “Did he...?”

“Wilbur was dead by the time it happened,” Theseus explained with a nonchalant shrug that told Sam there was more to it than that. “He couldn’t have done anything. Before he died, though, he’d pretty much lost his fucking mind, real life insanity and shit—right off the rails. He was blindly paranoid, hardly believed a word I said on a good day, whether because he believed I was naive or a traitor was debatable, and prone to lashing out when stressed or angry; he was angry a lot near the end.” The young man reached up to touch the large mar from a sword on his cheek, brushing his white-gloved fingertips over the rough scar tissue as though remembering something, and Sam’s stomach twisted.

He had a feeling that he knew all too well what Theseus was unintentionally hinting at.

“He died,” Theseus repeated in a monotone, finishing the tale as short and abruptly as possible as he dropped his hand to his chest and used it to play with the gold chain that kept his cloak just tight enough around his shoulders. “Killed.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam murmured. “That...really sucks.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Shitty understatement, huh?”

Theseus chuckled a bit. “A little, yeah, but it’s okay, I guess. He wanted to die, anyway, and I was mad at him for a long time for it, but I guess I get it now. So I’m still mad, but I get it, and it makes hating him a lot harder, ya’ know? Even after all the shit he did before he died—he wasn’t in his right mind.”

That was...a morbid acceptance. The world had been cruel to this one. “Are you scared of him now or something?” Sam hesitated to ask but did so, anyway, as gently as he could.

Theseus’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. I...I was a little, back when he was alive. Not all the time, just when he got angry. He’d apologize and shit, hugged me and healed me and shit afterward—“ Sam winced. “—so I know he still cared somewhat, deep down. But I don’t really got good memories of him right now, so I don’t know how I feel about facing him.”

“That’s fine,” Sam soothed. He wasn’t going to pry into that or start any attempts at pushing Theseus into a situation that would upheave more trauma. “But what about Tubbo? You guys are attached at the hip.”

Theseus’s eyes dimmed, and he tilted his head down towards Sam sadly. A smile played on his lips, but it was tinged with a bitterness that blamed himself and held anger towards others. “I just think that maybe Tubbo doesn’t need this pressure on him, is all. He was just as fucked up as I am in the end; I don’t want that for him again.”

Sam licked his lips. “Tommy...”

“You want peace,” Theseus said. “You always have, and that’s why I want you to help me. You and Tommy don’t know each other very well yet, but I consider you a good friend of mine, for as little of those as I have left. When we were in war times, you built a secret base far away from the SMP, redstone and shit, and you showed it to me, offered me a sanctuary if I ever wanted to get away. When I was exiled, you came to me and offered to let me stay with you for a second time, to hide. You knew that everyone was tearing itself apart, and you hated it. I never took you up on your offer, even if I was grateful for it, but...I guess I hoped that the offer was still open? I mean, obviously you’re not  _ my _ Sam, but—“

“Tommy,” Sam reached forward, grasped the boy’s shoulders and fought not to tighten his grip when the blond flinched at the sudden physical contact, “of course I’m going to help you. Hell, I’d give you that sanctuary if I could, but as you can tell, I haven’t exactly built this legendary secret base yet. I don’t even have a house in the SMP I could smuggle you into.”

“I guess not,” Theseus agreed, exhaling shakily. “I’ve wasted both of our times—“

“No!” Sam tightened his grip, carefully and slowly this time, pleased to notice the blond didn’t react. “No, you didn’t. I...admittedly, I’ve had an idea like that for a while but have just never gotten around to it. Obviously I have a valid reason now, so I can start as soon as possible. But I don’t know where you’ll go in the meantime.”

Theseus pursed his lips, lifted his shoulders and dropped them in a shrug. “I lived in the wilderness in exile, I can do it again.”

Sam immediately interrupted the kid’s train of thought. “Yeah, no way. I have an idea, although I’m not sure if you’re going to like it. Time has passed for you, so maybe things are different, but...”

“Okay?”

“He made some mistakes, but he’s nice and regrets what he did and cares a shit ton. He wouldn’t mind taking you in. We’re pretty good friends, I’d say, despite not seeing each other a lot, and he’d keep your secret, of course—“

Theseus raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms impatiently. “Spit it out, man, come on.”

“Eret,” Sam rushed breathlessly. “I can ask Eret if you can stay with him for a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Tommy’s gonna have a hard decision with this one!


	5. a kind enemy is not my friend (not yet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus stays with Eret. It’s precarious and just waiting to be ruined.

The heat of the Nether was suffocating, but Theseus vividly recalled why he’d preferred its warm fingers down his throat, searing ash unto his tongue and deeper more, rather than the cold touch of Dream and his sick imitation of comfort, rather than the memories that clawed their way from the recesses of his mind, gnawing mercilessly at his heart until it ate away at what was left of the poor shattered thing that used to beat so fervently.

Trauma is messy. It changes people, can easily warp them and break them until they’re gone or someone else (“Wilbur, I’m sorry! Wilbur, wait—!”), and Theseus has (seen) felt it, in his broken bones and skipping heart and mangled flesh. It heals like the deepest of scars if one survives it, a mark left behind forever that may be hidden at times but clear as day as others; it might hurt sometimes and it might feel like nothing at all otherwise.

Theseus wears the scars of trauma under his skin and under his clothes, and even if Tommy is not quite the shattered soldier Theseus is, the scars of battle and betrayal are still fresh on the young boy as it is on Theseus.

“Eret,” he repeated, feeling his tongue become numb. “You want me to trust...”

“Time hasn’t healed that one, huh?” Sam sighed, grimacing. “I know what he did was shit, but he regrets it and has been trying to make up for it. He’s tired of everything, too. He wants peace just like me, and I swear on all three of my lives that he’ll help you.”

“In my time, Eret has more than redeemed himself,” Theseus admitted, ignoring the fuzziness in the back of his mind. He could only imagine standing before the King once more and being thrown to the wolves again. “Trust has been...a little hard for me recently. I trusted a lot of people, and it backfired nearly every time. I...I forgave Tubbo for a lot of things that happened, but even he never felt entirely safe in the end either. And you’re asking me to trust someone who I’ve already had betray me,who’s indirectly taken one of my lives.”

Sam winced, silently conceding how insensitive that must have seemed. He pondered the bit about Tubbo, too, and wondered if that was why Theseus had refused to talk to Tubbo instead of him (what had happened to tear the two best friends so far apart?).

“I get it,” he nodded, “and I’m not going to force you into anything, but we don’t have a lot of other options—and I wouldn’t feel good sending you off to fend for yourself outside in the wilderness like exile. And hey, maybe this would be a good opportunity to bridge the gap, work through some of the trauma Eret has caused.”

Theseus bit his lip. “Do you know anything about Dream?” Sam frowned in confusion, opening his mouth to ask what that meant, but the blond continued before he could. “I mean, I know you’ve known him a long time, but I meant if you knew anything about Dream being around Eret’s castle and shit. He crowned him, so is he around a lot?”

And, oh, Sam felt stupid for suddenly forgetting the bit about how Dream had apparently gone psycho and killed the teen (to be fair, it was a lot to take in). “I’m not really sure. I don’t hang around here a lot, you know. I don’t know where Dream spends his free time.”

Theseus frowned, and Sam tried to reassure him. “But the castle’s huge, and Eret’s the one who built it! Even if Dream does visit sometimes, you can easily avoid him, and it’s not like he’ll be looking for you or anything. He doesn’t even know you exist.”

That was true, the blond conceded. The potential situation reminded him a lot of when he stayed with Techno, hiding when Dream arrived, but at least he wasn’t actively being hunted anymore.

(No, this time Theseus was the hunter and Dream his prey.)

Techno had tried to get Theseus to open up after the cobblestone tower incident; sometimes he did and sometimes he didn’t. Techno had never pried, and he’d been grateful for it—was still grateful for it—but it meant that some things, things less recent and long repressed that had bubbled up to the surface, had been left untouched.

Eret’s betrayal, for example, besides that one time in the sewers, almost, and never again.

He didn’t quite hate Eret, though he’d long since come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t big enough to hand out forgiveness like everyone else seemed to have (he wasn’t ready). But he’d also never interacted with Eret as much as the others, especially after his betrayal. He’d stayed as far away as he could and yelled at the man whenever Eret tried to speak to him.

Theseus didn’t have much for hope these days, considering everything that had happened; it seemed good until it came crashing down, and the cycle repeated. But perhaps hope was something he needed in the days that were to come. 

_“What’s the point in doing anything, if you’ve lost all hope?”_

Theseus had been ready to die, to give up, and then he hadn’t. He’d had hope, however brief, when he chose to come back here, and he’d cling to it.

He was on his own now. Nobody else could ever know what had happened in the future like he did, how downhill everything had gone. He had no one.

But he had hope, and that would have to be enough.

Hope for the future, hope for happiness, hope for redemption and forgiveness and everything he thought he needed but didn’t quite know how to get—reconciliation, at least.

It had to start somewhere.

“Fine.” Theseus narrowed his eyes, a final stand. “But  _ you _ get to do the talking.”

* * *

Theseus was forced to dump another invisibility potion when they headed to Eret’s castle.

“If we’re going to be anywhere near SMP lands or L’manberg, I don’t want anyone seeing me.” The blonde, despite the leftover heat from the Nether and warm clothes, shivered. “My existence needs to stay secret, especially from Dream, for as long as possible. And if that’s _not_ possible, I don’t want my identity reaching his ears, at least.”

“If you’re gonna do anything productive, you can’t just down invis pots all the time,” Sam told him. “I mean, they’re not unlimited.”

“I—I just need some way to hide my face, technically,” Theseus hedged, “but there’s no way in hell I’m using a fucking mask either, so invis it is. Te—my brother taught me how to make them, anyway. As long as we have the ingredients for them, it should be fine.” The blond flashed a grin that Sam couldn’t see, but one that he could hear perfectly. “In fact,  _ you _ can get them! Less work for me!”

Sam opened his mouth to argue, mostly out of amusement, but suddenly remembered Theseus’s reasons for wanting to stay away from the Nether and decided on an, “Alright, but the secret base might take a little longer if you’re having me run errands.”

(He also wondered about the brother Theseus kept mentioning, the one that certainly wasn’t Wilbur.)

Theseus grimaced a bit but shrugged. “Eh, you can probably get shit for your base there, too, though, so it’s not a total waste of time.”

“Sure,” Sam agreed, mostly to dispel the discomfort he could hear in the boy’s tone.

The young man held himself differently, talked differently, and had a deeper voice and older appearance, but he was similar to Tommy in many ways, as well. The same tones and inflections when he spoke—“Ya’ know?”, and “Innit?”, and “Get shit.” The same sound and look of a grin, and he imagined his laughter to be the same as well despite having not heard it yet. He couldn’t decide whether it was comforting or unnerving. 

Sam maneuvered them to the front gates, Theseus right on his heels with a hesitancy that he could not quite name, and knocked, his knuckles wrapping against the massive wooden doors, causing the ghost of an echo.

The doors remained still for only a moment before there was a creak, then a groan, and the doors eased their way open, welcoming them into the spacious castle.

Sam entered, glancing back at thin air, and Theseus whispered, “I’m right behind you. Go.”

Neither glanced back as the doors shut behind them.

Sam led Theseus through the halls he’d never been down and to the throne room, where Eret sat studying a stack of papers behind his sunglasses tiredly.

“Eret!” Sam crowed, and Eret jumped, glancing up to see his green-haired friend.

“Sam!” Eret blinked in surprise, setting the papers off to the side. “I didn’t know you were coming for a visit. When’d you get back?”

“Uh,” Sam laughed, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “not too long ago, actually. But, uh, I kind of ran into something, and you’re really the only person I can go to.”

At this Eret straightened, standing from his seat. Behind Sam, Theseus jerked, his hand curling around Sam’s wrist in warning, and the masked man winced. “Are you in any trouble?”

“No, no,” Sam assured him, “I mean, not really. I’ve...I’ve got this friend, right? And he’s in a spot of trouble, and he doesn’t really have anywhere or anyone to turn to besides me. He got into the SMP to talk to me—“

“What? Did Dream whitelist him?”

“No, that’s sorta the problem,” Sam hedged. “He needs somewhere to stay while he works through his...problem, but I don’t have a permanent residence anywhere around here. I was gonna build myself a base, far from here but easily reached through the Nether, for myself and him, but until then, I was wondering if you could house him?”

“Yeah, dude, no problem,” Eret agreed, but his expression was still clearly befuddled. “I’m just a little confused about the ‘not being whitelisted’ thing.”

“Yeah.” Sam blew out a breath, felt the hand on his wrist tighten. “There are terms to keeping him here. It took a lot of talk to convince him you could be trusted, but there’re rules.”

“And they are?”

“Dream can not, under any circumstances whatsoever, know that he’s here or that he even exists. If you can help it, nobody else besides me should hear anything about a visitor or new guest at all. If Dream ever stops by, he needs somewhere here to hide away until he leaves.” Sam gave a shaky smile. “I think that’s—“

Eret watched as Sam’s mouth snapped shut, brow furrowing. It was then that he noticed the little details that were off about the air around Sam. For one thing, there were particles floating around him, like he’d downed a potion, but they seemed offset; there was also the matter of seeing the bottom sleeve of Sam’s shirt wrinkle oddly, the way his hair shifted just so slightly, as though someone had leaned too close.

Someone was invisible inside his castle, and Eret had no doubts it was Sam’s friend. Things must be more urgent than Sam was letting on, if the man was trailing after Sam and being shielded by magic.

Eret made no comment about this, though. If the way the man still had yet to announce his presence or seemed to be gripping Sam’s wrist and supposedly whispering into his ear now indicated anything, it was that he was uncomfortable. The king would not push any further than he was allowed, especially with the immense trust Sam, and similarly the stranger, had just placed in him.

Eret was a known traitor, and sometimes that tainted other relationships despite having not betrayed those other bonds. Being a traitor meant being unreliable, untrustworthy, and he did not fault those assumptions. He had placed them upon himself, after all. Still, nowadays he never dared to squander the trust he was given, carefully guarding it with his life. This would be no different.

“Sorry,” Sam continued after a moment, “uh, there’s another condition. No matter what you see or hear, you can’t ask questions—and we know you’ll have them. But please, for the sake of...” He trailed off, lines deepening in his forehead as he struggled with himself. Eret’s heart skipped in his chest. “Just, don’t ask.”

_ “Don’t ask.”  _ How unsettling. What could the mysterious man carry, showed so openly, that questions would be inevitable? Expected?

“I accept these terms,” Eret conceded graciously, tacking on a, “You may hold me to my sworn oath that I’ll keep quiet.”

“What is an oath to you?” A different voice prompted, and despite having already known another listened in on their conversation, it made Eret jump.

The familiarity of the sound did not help matters.

“He’s invisible,” Sam explained, and Eret nodded, unsurprised. The stranger nor Sam made a comment on it. “And, uh, as you can tell, he doesn’t exactly believe your word is as good as I do.”

“No, I suppose not.” Eret debated his next words. “Forgive me if this falls into the ‘question’ category, but do you expect to remain invisible your entire stay? I do not mind, but...”

“I don’t have milk,” the voice grumbled, and it sounded young, Eret noted. “It’ll wear off shortly.”

“Alright. Well, I suppose I welcome you for as long as you’re here. Despite your mistrust of me, I swear Dream won’t hear a word of your existence from me, and he won’t show up too much, in my experience, either.” Eret moved forward, and Sam winced; the eyes behind the sunglasses shot back to Sam’s wrist, which was once more being grabbed. “I see,” he said, taking a step back and watching the sleeve relax. “I’ll keep my distance then.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam apologized, but Eret waved him off.

“No need. It’s not your fault, nor is it your friend’s. I’ll respect his boundaries.”

Sam nodded, albeit hesitantly, and turned to the invisible man. “I’m gonna head out. I need to find a location for my base and get started if you want out of here as soon as possible. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” the stranger sniped, huffing angrily. Sam stumbled as he was pushed towards the exit. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“To—“

“Theseus,” the stranger hissed, and Eret couldn’t help but imagine wide eyes and shaking hands from the desperate tone. “You can’t call me that, Sam. Not unless we’re alone.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam hurried, guilt flashing across his face. “I’m not trying to patronize you, it’s just—I haven’t heard _nearly_ enough from you about what happened, and it still makes me sick.”

“It’s not your fault,” the stranger, Theseus, argued. “Not what happened, and certainly not this.”

“I could’ve let you wander off into the woods instead,” Sam reminded him, smiling weakly, and Theseus snorted.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and you probably should’ve. But thanks, anyway, for, ya’ know, not letting me.”

Once more, Eret couldn’t help but feel like he knew the man cloaked by magic. It had to be something about the way Theseus spoke.

“Don’t thank me for that.” Sam shook his head, and the king got the feeling his friend had just barely managed to stop himself from saying the same name the stranger had refused to let Eret hear. “It’s common decency.”

“We always lacked a lot of that,” the stranger mused, laughing slightly, and Sam mustered up a chuckle. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Sam glanced from the spot the stranger stood to Eret, and the desperate look in his eyes told the king to tread carefully. “Alright. I’ll see you around.”

“You’re always welcome,” Eret assured the green-haired man, and then he was disappearing down the hall, leaving the king and his new guest alone in the massive throne room. “I’ve got paperwork to do. You’re free to explore the castle and pick a room upstairs. I won’t disturb you.”

“I’m not sorry,” the man said, loud and brash unlike his previous words, which had been more under his breath or for Sam. “I don’t want you within two sword lengths of me, I don’t want you to touch me, and I certainly don’t want you to ever see me.”

Eret remained quiet for only a moment, just to make sure the stranger was not going to continue. “And I’ll respect that, although I’m not sure how you’re going to work out the ‘seeing you’ aspect. I do not think you have enough potions on hand to get you through your stay, and _I_ certainly don’t.”

“I’m probably just gonna hide and shit,” the man said, and Eret fought a frown;  _ why _ did he feel like he knew this person? “Might leave with an invis pot or something, but you probably won’t see me a lot.”

“Whatever works for you, I guess.” Eret shifted in his spot uncertainly. “I know you don’t want to be here, so I won’t hold anything against you. I’m sorry you don’t have any better options.”

“Me, too,” the stranger muttered.

When there wasn’t another word spoken, Eret intoned, “Hello?” and got no response. The stranger had left without warning or a goodbye.

Sighing, Eret went back to his paperwork.

* * *

Two days into living with his new roommate that felt more like a ghost than a person, Eret finally caught a glimpse of the stranger who’d been roaming his castle. It was only at the back, and he was standing in front of one of Eret’s multicolored windows, staring out at the SMP and L’manberg.

He made note of the elegant attire, eerily fitting for someone of royal status (the king wondered where he might have hailed from), the blue cloak with a fur hood, blue pants and furred black boots, a winter garb through and through. The stranger was blond, and Eret thought he saw a small braid.

The king wondered if he should announce his presence and try to speak with the stranger or leave. He didn’t get the chance to decide before the young man spoke up.

“There’s an election going on, isn’t there?”

“Uh, yes.” Eret was mildly surprised. He didn’t think Theseus would be interested in the ongoings of L’manberg or politics at all. Then again, Eret still didn’t know what issue the man was trying to resolve here in whitelisted territory (or how he’d gotten in without permission), so perhaps he’d read him wrong. “Why?”

“Do you know how long until the votes will be announced?”

Eret frowned. “In a week or so. Debates are still happening.”

“That’s enough time,” Theseus said, as though he was agreeing with something Eret had not made a point to say. “Sam told me he’d be here tomorrow to give me some things. Can you not be there for it?”

“I hope neither of you are planning to kill me,” the king teased, trying not to display the uneasy tension the too-familiar stranger evoked. “Poor impression, after letting you stay here.”

“Not you,” the man muttered, and Eret’s joking smile melted, blood cold in his veins.

“I hope Sam is aware of this,” Eret pressed, harsh for the first time since Theseus’s arrival. “That you’re plotting murder.”

“Sam knows why I’m here,” Theseus said, and Eret did not miss the careful wording, the loophole. “He probably already suspects, if I’m honest. I don’t know if he’ll care—I don’t know if  _ you’d _ care, if you knew why.”

Eret tasted ash and blood on his tongue, like the Final Control Room all over again.

“I’ve betrayed my friends before,” Eret told him, and the tall form of Theseus flinched. “Don’t trick me into doing it again.”

Eret could’ve made the man turn then, could’ve forced the man to show his face and bare all his intentions to the world, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked away.

* * *

Eret awoke that same night to screaming.

It was the cries of those mourning a loss before their eyes, the sobs of a grieving child calling to their loved ones, the howls of the dead reliving their pain, and the king rushed out of bed and down the hall in a panic.

He flung the door of one of the room’s open, where the screams emanated, to be greeted by his guest, fast asleep but sobbing as he thrashed desperately and kicked his sheets around.

Without thinking, Eret hurried over to wake Theseus, grabbing the young man by the shoulders and shouting, “Theseus! Theseus, wake up!”

It was then that the stranger snapped awake, but when he met Eret’s blinding white eyes in the dark, he only screamed louder, scrambling away and falling off of the bed with a dull thump. He scuttled to the wall where he trembled, arms wrapped around his knees and hands curling in his hair, weeping. “Please, please, please—“

It was pitch black in the room, only the moon glowing outside the single large window providing any light. And now Theseus was right in the path of its beams.

Eret’s throat closed up, feeling his own tears well up. “Oh my god, Tommy?”

Oh, the king thought faintly, that’s why he’s so familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy’s older and traumatized but still just as shit at hiding anything. Whoops.
> 
> Also, the update schedule so far is scheduled for once a week! Thanks!


	6. i dream of history and its flames that burned me (here i go)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eret and Tommy’s interaction goes as well as expected. Sam returns with supplies.

_Tommy saw the button on the floor first, so why wouldn’t he press it? It had to be something cool! This was Eret’s room, after all! It must be the secret weapon!_

_He pressed it and had never regretted anything more. He never dared tell anyone later that it’d been him who’d hit the button out of excitement and curiosity rather than Eret._

_It would have happened anyway, but it had been Tommy to press the button; it had been Eret who’d doomed them but Tommy who’d sealed their fates._

_“Down with the revolution, boys!” Tommy heard as Dream leapt at him. Around him, his friends cried out, his brother yelled his name. “It was never meant to be!”_

_Tommy felt the blade slice through the flesh of his throat, felt the cool blackstone beneath his hands, slick with the spilled blood of his people and soldiers, even as he reached up to try and stop the flow stemming from his neck, a futile effort._

_He coughed on his own blood, a soldier choking and sobbing like a child in a room full of his enemies and surrounded by his allies’ bodies, and slumped to the side, watching through hazy eyes as Dream stood above him triumphantly, his cursed smile mask glaring down at him mockingly._

_Tommy was a child who’d lost his first life to war; he was a soldier who’d died for his country on the front lines; he was a boy betrayed by someone he once called a friend._

_He closed his eyes to greet the void and woke to fire and the smell of gunpowder._

_“My L’manberg, Phil! My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished!”_

_Tommy tore his eyes from the crater his country had become to watch as his own father slaughtered his brother, manic and a stranger, before him, the sword slipping through his gut swiftly, ruthlessly. He felt sick._

_Tommy was a child who’d watched his brother die; he was a soldier who’d witnessed a fallen comrade crumble and the destruction of his nation; he was a boy who’d lost his hope before he could grasp it._

_He turned around to run and was met with his eldest sibling standing there with blackened eyes and bloody fingers. Tommy stumbled back._

_“You want to be a hero, Tommy? Then die like one!”_

_The Withers razed what was left of L’manberg, burning his people, tear-streaked and worn, killing citizens left and right. And his big brother stood above them, threatening bloodshed and death to them all._

_Tommy was a child who’d watched his older brother burn up from the inside out until he let the fire consume him; he was a soldier who’d once more been betrayed by an ally; he was a boy who’d stepped into life hoping and had left angry and hurt._

_Tommy is a child, they all said, and he complained, but what he did not say was that Tommy had not been a child for a long, long time, and he wished he was._

_“Theseus! Theseus!” His people’s corpses and battered forms began to chant, like puppets on strings. Tommy stumbled back as his country turned on him, faces melting until they were nothing but blank slates._

_Dotted eyes and a simple smile flashed on all of them._

_“You are hereby exiled...”_

_“They exiled him!”_

_“Theseus! Wake up!”_

Theseus was torn violently from his nightmare, heart racing as he whipped his gaze around; they settled on empty white eyes, and all the blond could see was Eret’s grin and bloodied face the first time he’d ever experienced the icy grip of death and its shards, the cold of the snow that blanketed him during his stay in exile, when he’d run and run as far as he could, a white mask with lies so sweetly cooed to take and tame.

Another wail ripped itself from his throat, and he tumbled off the bed, huddling against the far wall as he tried to plead.

“Please, please, please,” he cried, and something was gasped in the midst of his mutters, a familiar name, but he didn’t care; all he could do was brace for punishment. “I didn’t meant to, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me, it hurts, please—“

“Tommy, Tommy, I’m not going to hurt you,” Eret promised, shuffling closer and kneeling on the floor. “Open your eyes, you’re fine.”

But was it Tommy? Eret’s head hurt; none of this was making sense. He could see the scars on the kid’s face, the age in his skin. How could this be Tommy?

Theseus obeyed, opening his eyes to stare into Eret’s (the king could not remember Tommy ever being unnerved by them except to make fun), and he tried to gentle them, to mask the confusion and knot in his stomach. The young man stared, tear tracks staining his scars and eyes tracking an endless void.

“Tommy?” Eret tried hesitantly. “Theseus?”

“I don’t know why I picked that stupid name,” the boy said, and the king was startled back by the suddenness. “I guess he was right when he told me I was an impulsive idiot.”

“Who?”

“My brother,” Theseus whispered, like a confession into the night.

Eret didn’t ask. 

“You touched me,” Theseus said, and Eret moved back a few feet in the epiphany. “You came near me and saw me when I didn’t want you to. You said you respected that.” The blond’s empty gaze narrowed, and it felt like he was glaring at a wall rather than Eret. “I asked what your oath means to you for a reason, traitor.”

Eret flinched, hands curling into his pajamas. “I heard screaming, and I panicked. I thought you were dying.”

Theseus scoffed, head seemingly clearer as he wavered to his feet. “Too late for that, pal.”

“You’re Tommy, aren’t you?” Eret swallowed at the the blond’s hollow stare. “You have to be, but you’re older.”

“The deal was you didn’t ask questions. There was a reason Sam and I put them in place, ‘cause of shit like this.”

Eret was still confused, he didn’t think it would ever fade, but he found himself understanding more of the situation than before. It made too much sense, in fact, and the king hated that he now knew where all the behavior had stemmed. “You never forgave me, huh?”

“Don’t act like such a little bitch,” Theseus spat, and it was Tommy’s natural defensive lilt, but it was sharper, its sourness more sincere than anything he’d ever heard from the young blond back in L’manberg when he raged at others. “Boo fucking hoo. Look, asshole, I’m fucking on my own; if I had any ability to forgive you, I would.” He looked sadder now, tired and dejected. Eret didn’t move, only watching. “You don’t fucking get it, ‘cause if you did, you’d stop goddamn whining about it. I died in that room, dickhead, and so did the rest of my friends. I waited to lose my first life to war, but being backstabbed by a friend was shit.

“You didn’t stay.” Theseus turned on the king, pressing him backward. “For a split second, like everyone else, I feared for your life, and I hated myself for it when I realized you were the one who gave us up. You turned tail and ran, never looked back; you never saw, did you? You never watched your friends be slaughtered around you, heard your brother scream in pain and plead for your life before he died. Dream slit my fucking throat open and just watched me bleed out in the middle of my friends’ bodies.

“You think you can regret that and all is well?” Theseus shook his head, eyes burning into Eret’s. “Maybe you feel sorry, maybe you wish it were different, but don’t expect jack shit from  _ me._ You—I can’t go one nightmare without you showing up.” The blond’s hands trembled as he reached up to grasp the collar of Eret’s shirt. “I have been betrayed so many times since you threw us to the wolves, but it never hurt like yours did—I was always waiting for it, after you.

“You can say sorry, but I don’t want to hear your pity party when I tell you I never let it go. You don’t just let that shit go. And I’m not being  _ petty _ ,” the boy spat, as though he thought Eret would accuse him of such a thing, “because it makes me sick to my stomach not to just let it go like everyone else, because I’m tired of being  _angry_ all the time. I’m not capable of forgiving you, not now, no matter how much I might wish I was.”

He dropped the king’s collar, stepping back and shoving his hands under his cloak at the sides to hide his shaking limbs. “I’m here for one thing and one thing only. You’re a...an inconvenience, that’s all.”

“I can help you—“

_ “Gentlemen, I believe I can help you.” _

“I don’t care!” Theseus hissed, spinning around and heading to the exit as he clutched at his head and silently pleaded for his memories to shut up. “We’re done here. This never happened, and we go back to acting like one another doesn’t exist.”

“And you’re planning to do this all by yourself?” Eret frowned, not unkindly. “You came all the way from the future to change something and don’t think you might need help?”

“That’s what Sam’s for,” the teen snapped and began to disappear down the hall.

Eret scrambled to the door, yelling, “Where are you going?”

“To one of the watch towers!” The boy glanced back only for a moment. “Don’t fucking follow me, and if you want to make it up to me, don’t tell Sam shit, alright?”

He was gone before Eret could respond.

* * *

“He had a nightmare and you let him wander off to one of the towers?”

Sam had returned to the SMP that early morning, conveniently enough, inventory full of things he refused to divulge to Eret, and the king had immediately done the opposite of what Theseus had demanded.

“He wanted his space,” Eret explained, running a hand through his hair as he adjusted the crown. “I’d already pissed him off, and that’s on me. So I backed off.”

Sam sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. “And that would’ve been the right course of action had it been anyone but Theseus.”

Eret frowned, tilting his sunglasses down to eye the man as he maneuvered the work on his table around, shoving an over-easy egg in his mouth with a fork. “You two kept pretty quiet about a lot of things, Sam. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

Sam groaned, fisting his hair in frustration. “I shouldn’t say, I really shouldn’t, but if he’s gonna stay with you...” The man huffed. “Tommy is, well, he’s here to do something important, but he’s in a bad way. He died, which is how he got back here, and he died by another’s hand, but I don’t think he died...I don’t think he regretted it.”

Eret promptly choked on the mouthful of eggs he was chewing. “He’s suicidal?!”

“Don’t yell!” Sam demanded, reaching over to whack the king in the back of his head in reprimand. “Yeah, if you want to put it bluntly. I don’t think he’s gonna off himself now that he’s got a goal to complete, but if he gets in too deep a rut or something, I won’t be surprised if he takes the opportunity to finish it.”

Eret whimpered pitifully, leaning over to bury his head in his hands. “He could’ve jumped last night.”

“Yeah, he could’ve.”

“I wouldn’t have even known.”

“Nope.”

“Sam, what the hell do I do?”

“Keep an eye on him,” Sam instructed gently, patting his friend consolingly on the back, “but don’t bother him. And don’t tell him I told you; I hate myself for spilling already.”

“I’ll keep quiet,” Eret promised solemnly. “How bad could things have gotten for it to be necessary to bring a suicidal Tommy to the past to fix it?”

“He didn’t tell me a lot,” Sam admitted, gaze distant as he glanced down the hall to the side, as though Theseus would appear suddenly. “What he did tell me, though, isn’t good, and if you tried filling all the missing gaps...”

Eret buried his eyes into his forearm resignedly. “We are so  _ fucked_.”

“Yeah.” Sam sighed, shifting nervously in place. “I’m gonna go find the kid. I’ll see you around, alright?”

“Sure.” Eret blinked. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you know Tommy was planning on killing someone?”

Sam’s expression shifted, flitting through too many emotions too quickly for Eret to pick out any. “Not really, but I’m not exactly surprised.”

Eret blew out a long breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed, brief and airy and resigned, “oh.”

* * *

Theseus glanced back at the door that was knocked on and crept over, pulling it open to peek out at Sam’s mask. He got the strange idea that the man was smiling as stepped into the room and lifted his communicator as the teen shut the door and locked it.

“Got your message,” he said, turning the screen towards him for the blond to see. “Your name is wonky, did you know that?”

Theseus furrowed his brow, scrutinizing the digital screen and its message. He knew the name tag that was supposed to be attached to it, knew what it should read, but if you didn’t, you wouldn’t know what manner of creature had sent it. Similar to his hearts, the name was glitched out, but it was much worse, the letters near impossible to decipher.

“Well, that’s a calling card,” Theseus joked, finding the theme oddly amusing. “That’s so fucked, aye?”

“Kind of,” Sam agreed, pocketing his communicator and opening his inventory to lay the supplies he’d brought out onto the bed. “It’s a little intimidating, actually. It screams ‘wrong.’”

“Oh, intimidation!” Theseus jumped onto the bed, jostling the items and making Sam wince. “I’m intimidating!”

Sam perched a smile on his lips. “Tommy, you’re really not,” he told him, tugging out half a stack of gapples that were bundled inside a stretch of leather and set it to the side.

He could have said many other things besides that. He could have said that Tommy was never nearly so heavy as Theseus was, even as the younger took up an entire room and the older seemed to shrink back and stay just out of sight when it suited him; he could have said that Theseus did not have to speak or intimidate to be feared because the blond’s mere presence was unsettling enough; he could have said that he was a version of Tommy that should never exist and it made him terrifying to look at. He said none of these things, of course, because Theseus was smiling like he had not cried the night before and acting like the Tommy who had not been driven to the ledge one too many times.

He was the most familiar he’d ever been, and despite his usual wrongness, it was comforting.

“I didn’t tell you to get gapples,” Theseus said, reaching over to the cow skin and pulling one out. “All I needed were the invis pots and bandages, Sam. I still have a stack of gapples on me and shit.”

“I got a couple extra things on the way, no hassle,” the green-haired male promised, pulling out some strength pots and, after a beat, two god apples, which caused Theseus to sputter. “Came across some temples; you’ll put them to good use.”

“God apples! Jesus, Sam!” Theseus lurched forward, snatching the two glowing fruits and clutching them shakily, like he was torn between shoving them into his inventory or beating Sam with them. “Why wouldn’t you keep these?!”

“When am I going to need them?” Sam raised an eyebrow in the young man’s direction, chuckling at the boy’s incredulous expression. “I’m here to help you, Tommy. I don’t want the future to be shit anymore than you do. This is the least I can do to pitch in. You’re the one doing all the hard work.”

“I haven’t done shit yet,” Theseus argued but shoved the two precious items into his inventory for safekeeping.

“Maybe,” Sam conceded with a small grin, “but that’s not entirely true, if you think about it. This entire thing is only possible because of you, Tommy. You had to live through it all, die for it, then choose to come back to try and fix something besides yourself— _ you _ , not this timeline’s Tommy. That’s hard work, no matter what you might think, and you’re still gonna have to do more.”

Theseus’s smile was brittle but sincere. “Because it’s never enough,” he sang, fond and amused just as much as it was a mourning, like an inside joke that belonged to him and a dead friend.

“It will be,” Sam tried to reassure, reaching over to pull the blond’s hands out and setting netherite ingots into his palms, manually curling the teen’s fingers around them as best he could. Theseus didn’t react this time, only glancing up into Sam’s eyes tiredly. “I know...I know I don’t know what the hell happened to you or me or anyone else where you came from, but I’m  _ here_.” He smiled weakly. “Eret’s here, for as much as that is worth. But you’re not alone, not in this. We are going to stand here and listen if you need it; we are going to fix the shit that happened, and everyone is going to be happy.”

Theseus nodded, dropping his chin to his chest, and Sam grabbed it carefully, tilting it up so that they were eye to eye. “That means you, too, Theseus.”

“How?”

Sam smiled softly, let go of the boy’s chin, and leaned back out of the blond’s space. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out as we go.”

“That’s a shitty idea.”

Sam shrugged, unapologetic and sad. “It’s all I have.”

Theseus snorted, glancing out of the bedroom window that looked out into the wilderness of the SMP that had not yet been built in. “Yeah,” Theseus said quietly, “I understand that.”

Sam hummed, glancing at the bandages Theseus had asked for next to the invis pots as he pulled out a bundle of healing ones. “What’s with the bandages, by the way?”

The blond blinked out of his dwelling, picking his gaze back up to blink at Sam and then the bandages. He perked up, grinning. “Oh, that! I said I didn’t want a mask, right? But I didn’t want people to see who I was when I decided to start messing things up, and invis would be pointless at times, so I decided that I could, like, wrap my entire face in bandages and shit. It’d cover nearly all of my scars!”

“You’re gonna look like Ponk,” Sam teased, chuckling, but Theseus shook his head insistently.

“Nuh uh!” He grabbed the roll of bandages off of the bed, unrolling it and messily wrapping it around his head. Sam huffed and reached over to stop the kid before he tangled them. “I’m gonna cover the blind eye and shit, ya’ know? I can see some light and motion sometimes, but it’s not really useful most of the time, so I can just wrap it. It’ll cover the scarred side of my face completely, and only one eye showing means people will have a hard time being able to tell what I look like!”

“Ah.” Sam nodded.

“Admit it! I’m a genius!” Theseus leaned forward and shook Sam by his shoulders.

“You’re gonna look like a mummy.”

“I’m gonna look like someone nobody will want to fuck with!” The blond laughed, falling backwards giddily. “It might even deter people from bothering me!”

“I don’t know about that.” Sam gave Theseus a pointed look. “Bad looks more terrifying than you will, and nobody’s scared of him.”

“He’s, like, the softest person ever, though!”

“Nobody will know who you are,” Sam reminded him, “therefore, they won’t know if you’re ‘soft’ or not. Appearances don’t deter anyone around here.”

Theseus pouted, crossing his arms over his face as he stared at the ceiling. “The one good thing about this server, and it’s still a shit time for me.”

“That’s pessimistic.”

“Fuck you! You wanna go, Samuel? I’ll eat this god apple now, and then we’ll see who’s the Big Man!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theseus may be different, but he’s still Tommy through it all.


	7. i pick the scab wounds on my skin until they bleed because they itch when they’re healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus and Eret have a heart to heart. It goes a few ways.

“I’ll be gone more soon,” Theseus told Eret that evening, after Sam had left, and the king was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by the blond, visible and having taken the steps to come down to the kitchen for the first time.

“It hardly ever feels like you exist,” Eret teased, trying to make light and not dwell on the last time he’d seen the boy, crying and angry and screaming in his face all of the king’s regrets and more. “Nothing much will change, so don’t worry about little old me.”

“I’m not,” Theseus argued, eyes flickering warily around the kitchen and keeping his distance, stood in the doorway instead of sitting at the table, even though Eret was by the counter. “I’m just telling you because I don’t want you to, like, start getting any ideas about looking for me or some shit. I’m not wasting invis pots around here now that you’ve already seen my ugly mug, so if I’m here, I’m here, and if I’m not, then I won’t be.”

Eret hummed as though he understood, captivated by the speech patterns that were so Tommy on the face of a man that looked so different. “You’re not ugly.” The blond’s name was on the tip of his tongue, but Eret knew where he stood in Theseus’s eyes and didn’t dare cross that line unless given express permission; he’d carelessly crossed too many the night before, and he knew it only set the young man further back in trusting him.

_“For a split second, like everyone else, I feared for your life, and I hated myself for it when I realized you were the one who gave us up. You turned tail and ran, never looked back; you never saw, did you? You never watched your friends be slaughtered around you, heard your brother scream in pain and plead for your life before he died. Dream slit my fucking throat open and just watched me bleed out in the middle of my friends’ bodies.”_

Eret had known the pain he caused his friends, inevitably, but never like that. The chests in the room were supposed to be so that they could take the group hostage and force them to give up the items they had left; Eret had not meant for them to be killed. He hadn’t had a choice, though, when the Dream Team had begun to swing mercilessly on the panicked group. He’d gotten a wound himself from a stray sword, not that he’d ever mentioned it, and he hadn’t had the guts at the time to yell at Dream for the divergence in plans.

Hearing Theseus scream at him had hurt, rightfully so, and Eret wished with all his heart that it could have relieved Theseus’s own hurt from betrayal; he knew it never would.

Theseus’s words made Eret feel pathetic for trying to ask for forgiveness, even if he still wanted it.

“Trying to butter me up with compliments, eh?” Theseus snorted, and Eret couldn’t tell if the blond was biting at him or simply being sarcastic in the way that Tommy always was. “Your lies won’t work.”

Perhaps both.

“You’re still not ugly,” Eret repeated, stirring the soup that sat atop the heated furnace. “Scars don’t make you ugly.” Hedging, he added, “Girls think battle scars are hot.”

“I don’t need battle scars for women to love me,” the blond told him, and Eret could tell by the way it was abruptly silent afterward that the response had been near automatic in the same way that the current Tommy was always speaking his thoughts before reacting to them with everyone else who heard the nonsense spill from his mouth.

It was funny how Tommy’s words and actions had always been distinctly childlike many a time, much like now, Eret mused. Most everyone had always chalked it up to Tommy _being_ a child, but Theseus could not have been a child even if he should have been, and he still spoke like Tommy too often not to be him. He had to wonder if that meant that Tommy’s childlike behavior was him being the child that he should have been as well as he could or if it was some sort of coping mechanism, one that many on the server made fun of him for.

Oh, look at that, Eret thought pityingly, the guilt is back.

“No, I suppose not,” the king agreed, flashing Theseus a hesitant smile instead of voicing his thoughts. “They’re still not ugly, though. Scars mean you fought and survived. That’s a good thing.”

“Fought,” Theseus repeated, scoffing as though Eret’s words were ridiculous. “Half my face is burnt and scarred to hell because I was a pussy ass bitch who let himself be manipulated. I didn’t fight shit; I was weak.”

The king fought not to ask and ignored the sharpness in his stomach. “You survived, though, and you obviously got out of it. That’s still fighting, in my opinion.”

“Your definition of fighting is betrayal,” Theseus snapped, and Eret couldn’t say he didn’t expect it. People with issues like Theseus never liked facing their trauma and what it meant or, at the very least, talking about it with others. They’d been civil for a bit, and Eret had pushed too far; Theseus was just pushing back.

Eret nodded slowly, shutting the furnace off and setting the pot of soup to the side. He turned around, leaning back against the counter as he faced the young man in the doorway. “Alright, I deserved that.” Theseus blinked, eyes widening in surprise. “You don’t have to talk about it, and if you want me to shut up, just say the word. I promised not to ask, and it seems to me that also means I shouldn’t pry. I fucked up the other night, and even though I was worried, it doesn’t justify me breaking the little trust you placed in me. I said I respected your wants, and I meant it, but I didn’t show it. That’s on me.”

Heaving a sigh, the king crossed his arms over his chest, not in any manner but one of insecurity. “I ask for forgiveness because I regret what I did, but I don’t want you to think I expect it. I want it, but I’m not pressuring anyone into handing it over freely. I know what I did, and it haunts me every night, but my mistakes hurt you, too, and that’s something more important than how it affects me, especially since I made that decision knowing the stakes. If you want anything from me, all you need to do is ask, but I’m not going to ask for you to forgive me in exchange.”

“You’ve been making amends,” Theseus conceded slowly, and Eret nodded.

“I have, but that doesn’t matter. I hurt you, and that’s it. If you can’t bring yourself to accept it and forgive me, that is not anyone’s fault but mine.”

Theseus narrowed his eyes, and the king paused; he’d said something wrong. “You’re mistaken. I’ve accepted it, Eret, I accepted that you betrayed us a long, long time ago; I’ve come to terms with that. That’s what makes forgiveness impossible for me.”

Eret swallowed the lump in his throat, asked, “What do you mean?”

“It means what it means: I’ve come to terms with what your betrayal means. Betraying us meant power meant more to you than we ever did; betraying us meant we whispered trust into one another’s ears every night and promised to protect one another all while you handed over secrets and planted TNT under a home we built for all of us to be free and safe; betraying us meant that we drank together and ate together and laughed together all while you waited for the day you’d put the knife in our backs and watch the life drain from our eyes; betraying us meant that we cared for someone who never cared back, and it hurt.”

Theseus was stiff in his spot, hands clutching the doorframe until his knuckles must have been just as white as his gloves. “It _still_ hurts, Eret. How do...how do I forgive that? How do I tell you that it’s okay that you didn’t love us? How do I forgive you for letting me _die_ ,” he gasped, a hand balling into a fist and pressing against his chest like he was grasping for a hold on his heart and the feelings that were spilling forth after so much time, “alone and scared, surrounded by my dead friends and family with my enemies just watching from above as I choked on my own blood and tried to breathe, tried to call out for help I _knew_ wouldn’t come? _How do I forgive you for letting me care about you?!_ ”

Theseus was sobbing now, and Eret couldn’t blink back his own tears at the blond’s desperate rage and buried grief.

“Why did you do that to us?” He trembled, reaching an arm up to wipe at his tears. “Why did you do this to _me_?”

“Tommy,” Eret rasped, broken and knowing there was nothing he could call the feelings in his head and heart that would explain enough, “I didn’t know you were going to _die_. Jesus Christ, if I’d known...! We were supposed to take your stuff, make you put them in the chests, you were never supposed to die! I didn’t ever want that to happen! They came out and started swinging, and I couldn’t—! I was a coward, there was nothing I could do, and I knew I’d never be forgiven.

“But I never hated any of you, Tommy, I loved you. I loved you, and it was why I turned my back on your revolution. I hoped that if it ended early, nobody would have to lose a life or die for good. When they offered kingship, I hoped I could use it to better the SMP, to help L’manberg, and it was the excuse I’d been looking for to end the war before things got worse.

“So many of us were too young, Tommy, and you and Tubbo were just kids. How could I stand by your side and spill blood next to you?” Eret shook his head regretfully. “I made a mistake, and I’m sorry, Tommy, and it’s not enough, but it’s all I—“ Eret swallowed his next words abruptly, forcing out a breathy laugh of hysteria. “No, no, I have all three of my lives, don’t I?”

Theseus stopped short, tear tracks and red eyes frozen in time. “So do I, now.”

“But you didn’t,” Eret stepped forward, “and one of those lives lost was blood on my hands—your blood. The only thing I can give you in exchange for the life I took from you is my own.”

He stepped forward again, managing to get halfway to the door before Theseus flinched, holding up a hand. “Woah there, cowboy, this isn’t—“

“Tommy,” Eret interrupted, and he felt nothing like the king Dream had named him. But wasn’t that all it was? A title? Dream ruled this server, and he couldn’t truly make anything better for this server unless Dream let him. He felt cheated but also deserving of the disappointment; he felt guilty for only piling failure amongst his sins. “Please.”

Here he stood before TommyInnit, dressed in loose pajama pants and a soft button up not meant for anything like business, barefoot and hair freshly dry from the bath he’d just taken before supper. He wore no crown, just his sunglasses, and upon this realization, he slid them off.

He was vulnerable now, placing his trust into Theseus. It was the same when Eret had betrayed them: they’d all been at their most vulnerable, scared and nearly defeated but full of hope, and he’d taken advantage of it. 

Now it was time for retribution.

“You were vulnerable, and I used it,” Eret laid it out bluntly, expression free for Theseus to study. “I am, too, and you can use it. In fact, I’m asking you to.”

“This won’t bring forgiveness,” Theseus told him sharply, clutching the frame once more, unsteady on his own feet. “This is sick, Eret, what the fuck? What do you want me to do, punch you to death?”

“If that’s what you want.” Eret knew the blond had a weapon on him at all times. He’d come down to talk with the king specifically; there was no doubt he was carrying at least two in his inventory now.

“I don’t want anymore unnecessary death, you dumb bastard!” Theseus barked, and he closed the gap suddenly, lurching forward to grab at the collar of Eret’s nightshirt, mirroring the night before when the teen had been delirious and scared, and slamming the king back into the dining table. “You think I want you dead?! Maybe this Tommy does, but I don’t! I don’t want you dead, you stupid bitch! Why the fuck would I?!”

“You hate my guts!” Eret cried, wincing when Theseus shoved him further and his hip collided on a sharp corner.

“I hate you for lying and pretending and letting us die like cows to slaughter for power!” Theseus’s grip slackened, but he stayed close, slumped slightly into the king’s form. They should have been the same height, but Theseus’s posture was just as bad as Tommy’s, maybe worse; perhaps the weight of the world and its sins had become too much for even TommyInnit to carry. “But you didn’t want us to die and you wanted peace and you loved us—“

“Love,” Eret corrected quietly, hesitantly bringing his hands up to brush them through Theseus’s hair. “I still love you, and I know your Eret feels no differently, if that’s what you mean. I know this doesn’t fix anything, for what it’s worth.”

“It hurts so much.” Theseus shook as gentle fingers carded through his hair, reminding him of when he’d awoken to his brother doing the same thing after thinking he’d die of frostbite, alone in a hole in the ground.

Two people who’d betrayed him yet still loved him.

(Why did it feel like his own people had never been nearly so sincere?)

“I know.”

“You hurt us so much.”

Eret gritted his teeth, tipped his chin to the ceiling and clenched his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears he knew would soak Theseus’s hair if he let them. “I know, Tommy. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” Theseus muttered, gruff against the wetness of his own tears that he denied the existence of. “It feels like too much effort to hate you but I do it so easily that I feel like stopping would...I don’t know.”

“It would make you empty,” Eret finished for him, soft and kindly resigned, toying with the braid in the blond’s hair. “You’ve lost too much, Tommy, and you hold onto what you have so tightly—that’s why it hurts so much for you to lose it. And now here I am asking you to let it go.”

“I want to,” Theseus argued, feeling cold inside and out. “It hurts to feel so much, and hate takes so much energy. I scream and scream and scream, but it doesn’t...do anything. But I just always want to scream, anyway, and then I feel like crying. I feel empty, then, too. I don’t want hate to be the only thing that makes me feel, Eret. Giving all that anger up, it’ll make me feel empty, but only for a little bit. Only...only a little bit.”

Eret took a deep breath, water stinging his eyes, and clutched Theseus tighter to him, feeling something light in his chest when the blond clung back. “Alright,” he said, an agreement and promise and reassurance all at once to a boy who hung on by threads of emotions that built him up and tore him apart. “This doesn’t have to be something for now. It’ll take time, like all healing. We’ll work through it together.”

“Together,” Theseus murmured, a reminiscent awe of a concept that Eret assumed was something long lost to happier times for the teen.

“I promise,” he told him, thinking of Sam’s fearful eyes when he heard of the watch tower, of Theseus screaming in his sleep, of his own heartache that would only grow if he continued to sit alone, isolated upon his throne borne of blood. “I swear it.”

The soup was cold later, but it didn’t matter; Eret did not have the stomach to eat it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Redemption POG! Or the start of it, at least.


	8. children do not mourn (they do not yet know death well enough)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam goes to bed after catching a glimpse of the man that ruthlessly murdered a child and wakes to a boy who’s scared of his own mind. 
> 
> Theseus thinks about his discs.

Sam remained in the SMP that night, deciding to sleep in the community house and return to his base at dawn to continue its construction.

Dream found him, an inevitability that would have happened eventually, but it still jarred him. Dream had never been anyone but an old friend, but the things Theseus had confessed to him upon revealing his identity made Sam wary of the blond who hid behind a mask.

"You're still here?" Dream sounded pleasantly surprised. "I figured you'd be gone by now."

"Just for the night," Sam assured him, leaning on the wall his bed was pushed back against. "I'll be out of your hair by morning."

"You're always welcome, Sam," Dream disputed, waving the greenette off. "Your behavior's been a little odd, is all. You've visited Eret twice in the past few days, which is a bit frequent for you to be here, and you haven't even said hello to anyone else."

Sam chucked, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "Ah, Eret's helping me with a little project of mine that I've been working on. Let's just say you'll be seeing more of me in the near future."

Dream stilled, and though Sam couldn't see his face, he knew his friend well enough (didn't he?) to tell that the masked man was practically glowing. "Really? You're finally settling down in the SMP?"

"I suppose I'm settling down, but it'll be a bit ways from here," Sam admitted, flashing his friend a smirk. "I'm nearby through the Nether, though. I just want to keep some of my privacy."

"Well, it's better than nothing," Dream conceded graciously with a light laugh, hands bunching into his hoodie pockets. "Don't be a stranger, alright? It'll be nice to have another friendly face around here."

"There's plenty already," Sam teased, and Dream shifted; he got the feeling the server ruler was rolling his eyes.

"Don't go grouping L'manberg in," Dream warned, nothing sinister, simply a teasing reprimand that Sam still knew was sincere. "They've been a pain since day one. We may hold a truce, but we're not friends."

Sam fought to hold the smile, just barely preventing his own falter. Theseus's tale of Dream taking an axe to the child's throat like a butcher played in his head on repeat, a reel that would not pause for its audience. He wanted to scream at his friend to let it go, beg him to protect the children of his server instead of feeding his hate until it festered beyond moral sanity.

He held his tongue.

"I'll see you."

Dream's expression flickered for only a moment, but it made Sam's heart skip nonetheless. "Sooner rather than later, I hope," the hooded man poked mirthfully before wishing Sam a good night and leaving him to his own.

He laid down, closed his eyes, and dreamed of a time when peace lingered instead of fleeing from the violence at its heels.

* * *

It was cold when Sam woke, and he was not sure why until he realized his blanket was being tugged from him. Blinking himself into consciousness and pushing himself up, his eyes searched for the intruder, only to see nothing but a floating blanket. 

An invisibility potion.

Sam couldn't help the loud groan, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his eyes. "Did you seriously use an invis pot to come harass me? In enemy territory?"

"I didn't come to _harass_ you," Theseus argued in the darkness but didn't offer up any correction. "I just couldn't sleep."

"Tommy, I _need_ to sleep if I'm gonna get that base finished for us." Mustering what little energy he’d gathered from his short nap, he removed his arm from his face and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Wouldn't it have been more fun to bother Eret?"

The wood planks in the floor creaked with Theseus's shifting movements, and the blanket fell to the ground. "We...had a talk. I don't want to look him in the eye for at least a week."

Not good. Sam suddenly felt all too alert. "Did something bad happen?"

"I don't think so? I don't think it was bad. But there was a lot of sappy shit, ya' know? Feelings and shit. I didn't want to talk to him after that."

Sam released the breath he'd been holding in relief. "Oh. Well, you didn't have to do 'feeling shit' with him again if you didn't want to. Eret's not the type to push."

There was a grumble and then his wrist was being tugged, body pulled to stand. "I didn't want Eret to freak out or get mad or something."

"Why would he?"

There was that sound of shuffling again. "I fell asleep and had a fucking nightmare. I panicked and...jumped out of the window."

Sam winced, pulling his wrist back. "You what? You could have died!"

"I was fine! I'm fine! I had a water bucket this time, asshole!"

 _This time_ , Sam repeated to himself, feeling nauseous. He wished he could see Theseus's eyes. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

"I don't want to talk—not about that, at least. I just need a distraction."

Sam couldn't help his scoff. "Yes, having Dream find you and run you down would be a great distraction, wouldn't it?"

"Nobody saw me," Theseus said, and Sam didn't bother pointing out that if someone _had_ seen his particles, they wouldn't have told him. "I came to ask if you wanted to egg Eret's castle."

"People are going to see that," Sam warned, opening his inventory to set his crown on his head and replace his creeper mask. He was awake now, for better or worse. "They'll wonder who did it."

Theseus shrugged, stepping on the plate that threw the community house door open. "Everybody'll just blame it on Tommy. It's something he'd do."

"You _did_ ," Sam hissed, hurrying to catch up, but couldn't stop his laughter at the absurdness of Theseus's audacity as he followed the blond down the prime path.

The few SMP stragglers that were awake only saw the familiar wanderer trekking along all by his lonesome, laughing into the empty night at nothing but himself.

* * *

"Eret might be a little pissed," Theseus admitted, kicking his legs along the ledge he was dangling them off of. 

Sam snorted, glancing down at the view from one of Eret's watch towers and back to the blond. Even from the top of the wall, they could still see the yolk splatters on the front of the king's castle. "Not my problem. He'll know it was you, but me? Not a chance."

"I'm not above throwing you under the bus."

"I'll be long gone by then, gremlin child."

Theseus huffed, shoving him to the side. "Ass."

Sam chuckled, staring out at the lights that lit the night in the SMP and L'manberg alike. "You fought for your nation, right? Gave up those discs of yours for it."

Theseus paused, ducking his head as he studied Sam from under his half-lidded eyes. "Yeah. What about it?"

"You ever end up getting them back?"

The blond shrugged half-heartedly. "This Tommy has one of them, actually, though Wilbur's holding onto it and its fake for now. Dream gave Skeppy the other to hold onto. But no, I never did."

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise, tearing his gaze from the view before them to stare at Theseus. "Really? You're a persistent kid. I'd of thought—"

"I tried," Theseus admitted, swallowing the lump in his throat as he choked; Sam frowned. "I realized too fucking late that it wasn't worth it."

Sam hummed, smiling sadly at his own lap. "Had to mourn that, did you? I'm sorry Dream couldn't be less of a dick."

The blond shook his head, a silent assurance such a thing was not on Sam and a bitter apology that told him sorries didn't fix anything, anyway.

Theseus had mourned many things in the recent days. He'd had much to mourn before that, though he never had because there was never time and never enough of himself to give up to it; he'd had other worries, other responsibilities to spend time on.

When his childhood had been thrown away for war and violence, his first life taken through the actions of a traitor and second life taken by an arrow to the throat, he'd ignored it and pushed through for the sake of his people and independence; when his country had been torn from his fingers by a dictator and shot at by whom he thought were allies, he'd ignored it and pushed through for the sake of his grieving brother and the freedom they had to fight to get back; when Wilbur had been taken from him by grief and insanity and he himself had paid the price, he ignored it and pushed through for the sake of his love for his brother and the knowledge that his country needed something other than a terrified child; when his country had been blown to bits before his eyes, his older brother had been slaughtered by their father, and his eldest sibling had risen Withers to further tear apart his home, his people, and himself, he'd ignored it and pushed through for the sake of L'manberg's terrified citizens and their hope for a home that could be rebuilt; when his best friend turned his back and exiled him, he'd ignored it and pushed through for the sake of his people's safety and his and Tubbo's friendship; when Dream had torn him down, beat him, and broke him, he'd ignored it and pushed through for the sake of affection and acceptance; when he'd nearly died in the cold and by what he thought would be his eldest brother's blade, he'd ignored it for the sake of his disks and his own sanity.

All he'd lost—his childhood and innocence and ignorance to all that could taint in the world—he'd never acknowledged. He'd ignored it, pretended like everything was fine, and poured all of what he'd lost into his music discs, the substitute for what had been taken from him as the only thing that was his that didn't precipitate violence, but instead peace and times outside of war.

When they'd been surrendered to Dream for independence, he felt empty, like all his loss had finally worked itself to the front of his mind. After Wilbur's death, Theseus could do nothing but vow to get them back and leave L'manberg to Tubbo, who would care for the country with a heart more complete than Theseus's own, who had more than emptiness to give to a country that needed it. All of his resolve were in those discs, and he could only help his people once he had them back, once he'd reclaimed himself.

Now, after everything, it made Theseus sick. He did not fault the person who had clung to those beliefs, not really, because even now, it didn't feel like those ideas had been invalid; they'd made more sense at the time than anything else that had happened. But irony at its finest had twisted the discs into a weapon at his throat, which Dream used to manipulate him and turn him against people. His obsession with the discs had caused him to forget the people who still lived, the things he still had, and he'd caused so many problems over them.

He still did not think them unnecessary, really. He did not think it was wrong to want that innocence and ignorant happiness back as a soldier that never got to keep his childhood. Sometimes his want to die was never about dying but about Ghostbur, how he was innocent and ignorantly happy like any child, and that meant that death would be worth more than his discs; his discs were substitutes for things he'd lost, a mere vessel and symbol for something that no longer existed, but death could have handed Theseus his yearnings on a silver platter.

Eventually, recently, he'd realized that getting those things back were naive, that he was holding onto the past so tightly that he was getting left behind. His discs did not matter more than his people or family, and his emptiness could not be cured with temporary tunes, only soothed, despite his hopes otherwise.

He thought of the Tommy of now, of how attached he must still be to the items, and suddenly, irrationally, wanted to track Skeppy and Wilbur down now, tear the discs from their hands, and let the young blond watch as a strange version of himself burnt them to a crisp.

The thought of doing it ached, but it was a soft, kind ache, the sort of ache that came with healing.

"I don't know why," Theseus admitted, catching Sam's gaze as he searched for answers in his friend. "I find I mourn things that cause me pain." He touched the same scar on his cheek as he had in the Nether, a gesture not unnoticed by Sam.

The greenette couldn't bring himself to think about it and returned his eyes to the stars above them. "Love often hurts us. That's why grief is losing a piece of your heart, and betrayal comes from those closest to us. Loves makes us vulnerable, susceptible to pain." He turned a pointed stare to the blond. "That doesn't mean love only brings pain, though."

"Maybe." Theseus prodded the scar once more before dropping his hand, fiddling with the clasp of his cloak. "We'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy: I’m an emotional mess, so vandalism is obviously the solution.
> 
> Sam: Uh, okay?
> 
> Tommy: You’re going to help me.
> 
> Sam: Unfortunately.


	9. our ghosts remember us best in death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur did not mean to awaken as he did. It does not mean he forgives Ghostbur or Alivebur or L’manberg.
> 
> He can not forgive himself either, but his grief will not be ignored. He knows he does not deserve to mourn Tommy, but he also knows his little brother deserves to be remembered with love. It is only with grief can he abide by that now.

Wilbur did not know of his existence as a ghost, or more why he'd remained bound to the server as he was, refused the void of death when he'd deliberately chosen it.

He felt like he'd been given a test and failed.

But it didn't matter now. Only the sudden awareness did, and he felt like vomiting; unfortunately, the return of his memories did not mean he returned to the land of the living, and so he was left to suffer the pit in his stomach.

He hated Ghostbur for leaving his brother alone and isolated, for sitting in silence as Dream manipulated his brother and laughed along, for missing the signs as Tommy lost his fire and began to long for the peace of death instead of the freedom of life, for standing on the sidelines as the country Wilbur and Tommy had built from the ground up turned against him, spouting slander and vitriol towards his little brother, a child when it suited them but somehow more responsible for his actions than everyone on the server had ever been.

He hated Alivebur, too, though, the monster that even Ghostbur and his naivety saw from only the vague mentions and subtle remarks made about him. He hated him for losing himself to something as trivial as an ache for power, for lashing out at Tommy when angry, for hurting the blond because it satisfied his bloodlust and justified his own pain, for ever thinking even for a moment that his baby brother would ever betray him; Tommy had suffered at his hands in Pogtopia, had cowered when yelled at and knew the destructive path Alivebur'd been walking, and the boy had still stood beside him, loyal and faithful until the end.

Wilbur knew Ghostbur had never been him, not ever so naive and oblivious, merely of shell of himself; he was not Alivebur either, who had been a twisted, broken man who could not deal with his own pain and decided to take it out on those most convenient. But Alivebur had been someone Wilbur had let himself become, unlike Ghostbur, and Wilbur could not be excused from his sins like he could Ghostbur's.

He hated Ghostbur and Alivebur, but he hated himself the most. Two versions of himself who had played along in his little brother's destruction, therefore, it was only fitting that Wilbur be returned to himself, whole and sane, just in time to witness his baby brother's final stand.

Wilbur always knew that someone like Tommy would go out fighting, spit flying and teeth bared; he never imagined he'd be forced to witness it as his youngest sibling was put down like a rabid dog.

He did not follow Techno, Phil, and Tubbo back to the tundra (oh, but how he longed to weep with his baby brother in his arms, safe and warm for once in the forsaken life Wilbur had had a hand in pushing upon him), nor did he take the time to track down Dream's spawn point (why would he bother? Eventually Dream would return to L'manberg and he'd be none the wise to Ghostbur's change, not in time to escape). Instead, he waited at the broken community house for those killed in Tommy's rampage to return for their items, perhaps to also see what had happened since they'd respawned.

(Wilbur noted the bodies, noted that none of the dead were amongst those on their last life. Quackity must have managed to flee before Tommy'd gotten to him).

It didn't take long, only a few minutes after his family's retreat, for the others to show up, a few strays with clusters trailing behind.

Callahan, Quackity, Fundy, Ranboo, Ponk, Sapnap, Bad, Sam, Eret, Puffy, Niki; the list went on as people returned to retrieve their stuff and others joined to see what had happened while they'd been absent. Wilbur floated amongst the carnage, eerily blank-faced as he watched them look around and then turn their attention to him.

They must not have noticed his expression, or perhaps the lack of emotion made them assume he was traumatized or confused.

"Ghostbur," Fundy started, stepping towards him, and Wilbur turned his eyes to his son (why had he turned on his uncle? Tommy had been one of the people to accept him when he'd come out, one of the people who'd cooed over his crib and rocked him to sleep, and even after Fundy's shifter genes had caused his aging to skip years, Tommy had never made Fundy feel like he had to be older than his uncle because of it).

"What happened here?" The echo of Wilbur's voice did not vanish with Ghostbur, but the rasp and pitch had, so Wilbur was forced to emulate it.

He knew what they would say, and yet he hoped someone would own up to the mistakes that had been laid out before the carnage had happened, hoped that someone would realize they'd been wrong and admit it. Nobody did.

"Tommy," Niki spat, poor, sweet Niki who used to love Tommy as much as Wilbur, even if his brother's childish jealousy and possession of Wilbur had caused him to come off a bit sharper when she was around. "He blew up the community house and tried to excuse it. Technoblade was killed in the middle of it, then he—" She shuddered.

"Dream's body's here," Sapnap mentioned, pointing to one of the bodies. "Tubbo and Tommy are missing, though. Tommy must've won and ran after killing us. Tubbo...maybe he went with him."

"Or Tommy snatched him and bolted." Quackity sneered. "After all this, he wouldn't care too much about knocking Tubbo out and dragging him away."

"That sounds dumb," Wilbur said, perfectly oblivious and carefully serene. "Tommy wouldn't do that."

"He did, Wil!" Niki hissed, eyes burning with fury and hate that did not become her; but Wilbur could not feel anything beyond derision besides, perhaps, some pity. "He—I saw him cut off Tubbo's fingers before I died. He killed all of us, brutally, mercilessly, without any reason except because he was _mad_."

"That's nice," Wilbur said, let them all glare or stare wide-eyed at him before his painted smile melted into something sharper, more dangerous, too much like Alivebur and his spiraling madness; but that's what he wanted. "You deserved it." 

If there was any reason to go manic, Tommy would be it.

Niki stumbled back, startled and fearful; Wilbur wanted to snap his teeth at her, because Tommy had felt the same when his people had done the same to him. "W-Wil?"

"Niki, back the fuck up," Fundy hissed, grabbing her arm and tugging her farther away. The rest of the group also stepped back, very aware of the tension in the air, the something that was not quite right. "That's not Ghostbur."

"You get a gold star," Wilbur cheered, clapping his hands loudly, pointedly, and chuckling when the noise made them all flinch. "Fuck you all. Seriously, I wish you'd all had one life left."

"Wilbur—!" Puffy cried, nearly dizzy with the amount of hate spilling through his words. She hadn't known him before his death, so she didn't realize this was not the right course of action.

Wilbur spun on her. "You shut the fuck up. I don't give a damn if you never said anything, you didn't even try to defend Tommy. Everything he said was right, and you're all too far up your own asses to see it! He's a goddamn child who grew up only knowing violence, and you all sit here like that's his damn fault when it's not! It's mine, it's yours, it's everyone's but his! He made do with what he had, and he dealt with the consequences, punishments that didn't even fit the crime, and I don't want to hear you argue that they do!

"You expected him to fix all your fucking problems, got mad when he didn't, and then threw a damn fit because he couldn't live up to expectations that literally nobody else on this god forsaken server has ever been expected to live up to! You treat him like a child only when it suits you and never any time else!

"There's an argument? He doesn't have an opinion, the conversation is for the adults. Trying to tell his side of the story? Kids lie all the time, so he must just be playing the victim or vying for attention." Wilbur trembled, fists clenching, and he watched them all flinch backwards, like Tommy had back in Pogtopia when he got angry; he knew they deserved it, unlike Tommy. "But he's not a fucking child when he's made Vice President and is trying to help his friend, who's also a fucking child, run this blasted country while you're all off frolicking God knows where; he's not a child when he watches me get murdered by our father, and no one steps up to comfort him or help him through his grief; he's not a child when he plays a goddamned prank that went wrong and pays the price of exile, an adult consequence far beyond what fit the crime when I've seen worse destruction done to Tommy's house on _purpose_ ; he's not a child when he's left by himself, alone and isolated, with the one fucking person who we all know has a history of cruelty and hates _Tommy's guts_ ; he certainly wasn't a child when he stood in the Nether and contemplated _fucking suicide_!"

Wilbur's form sparked, hands tingling, and he saw his eyes glow white in the reflection of the water. Ghostbur had been a spirit more than anything else, not able to touch much of anything or anyone and peacefully going about his day with barely a clue of whom he was or the concerns of anyone else; but Wilbur was a poltergeist, with memories and clarity and a newly realized purpose that meant he'd stayed behind to write wrongs and finish whatever business had been left uncompleted. It wasn't L'manberg or his people or even his son but Tommy, and poltergeists were dangerous when their purpose was threatened.

"Tommy's _dead_ , you _stupid_ motherfuckers," he snarled, lip curling, lurching forward and daring anyone to try and avoid his wrath; nobody moved. "Dream butchered him like the psychopath he is, in front of Techno and Tubbo, then my dad stepped in to kill the son of a bitch himself. They left to _bury_ my baby brother, and Tubbo went with when he realized how fucking _stupid and disgusting_ all of you have been!"

The citizens of the varying factions were still and pale; hardly anyone dared to breathe too loud.

"He was a fucking child," Wilbur spat, "and none of you ever gave a damn unless you could use it to patronize him. He fought for this country, bled and died for it, and all you could see was someone you could use to fight the battles you didn't feel like fighting for you. And now you're mad? Well, fuck you, you all deserve to rot in Hell.

"You talk about not trusting him, about how he never faces consequences, about how he's a liar, about how he's selfish, but we all know that he's none of those things. You didn't trust him, but he trusted you; he faced consequences tenfold, his own and others', while most of you got off scott-free for worse shit more often than not; he lied to protect his friends and himself, and sometimes because it was funny, but he never dared to jeopardize anything over it; he decided to be selfish for one time when he went after his discs, after dying for you and bleeding for you and suffering for you—and suffer he did because I saw him cry at night in the ravine of Pogtopia and flinch when people yelled and pray I'd come to my senses!

"You're the ones who never face the consequences, who burn trees and take down entire buildings for fun and never face even a single sword to the throat while Tommy accidentally burns a few wood planks, tries to repair them, and then gets exiled! You're the ones who lie, who tell a child you care and that you'll be there for him and then spit on him to save your own asses and turn your backs because it's easier than facing your own sins! You're the ones who are selfish, who throw a child to the front lines and hate him when all he can do is get angry and destroy because that's what you taught him to do, who would rather throw him under the bus to a manipulative monster so you don't have to deal with the issues that come with protecting him!

"And maybe I'm not any better," Wilbur admitted, bold and shameless as he pinned them to their spots, "but at least I can stand here and admit I'm the fucker who screwed up instead of pinning all my problems on a kid who just wanted a home and a family who'd have each other's backs."

Turning, he started to leave, back to Techno and Phil and Tubbo and—he couldn't help but think it—Tommy. "It sucks that he got stuck with you lot instead."

"Wilbur—" The trembling voice of Niki reached out, but the ghost didn't care.

"Have fun with the green bastard you decided to side with. I hope that when Dream comes back, he'll kill you all next."

* * *

See, Wilbur had a bad habit. 

He'd had it since he was young, barely older than five. It wasn't something anyone had realized was an issue until he got his first guitar from Phil for his thirteenth birthday.

What hurt people the most was the things they loved being destroyed, be it an item, a concept, a person; sometimes Wilbur had bad days and hated himself enough to abide by this principle to its utmost. Before he discovered his music, he'd hurt himself by pushing those he loved away. After was another story.

They'd talked about it after the time Techno had walked in on Wilbur, in tears and ripping the strings out of his guitar ruthlessly until his hands were bleeding.

Unwillingly, Wilbur found himself thinking about what Alivebur had done to Tommy, and he knew that they were not all that different. Wilbur had hated himself just as much as everything else during his down spiral, and he'd fallen to his bad habit once again, instability twisting it until he was no longer only using words to hurt Tommy but physically injuring him and pushing him around instead of away.

This was not to say that Wilbur had kicked the bad habit either, though. He'd gotten better at it over the years, using physical attachments and such rather than those that he loved (insanity had fed his habit, used it to hurt Tommy in ways that were irreparable in comparison to merely yelling a few meaningless words at him). So it was no surprise that when Wilbur had finally gotten to his brother's house the next afternoon, he ignored the group and their stares, their calls, as he floated to one of the upper floors, gathered the guitar Ghostbur had played for Tommy during his nights in exile, and dragged it down to the basement where he could do no damage to anything but himself and the guitar.

(He'd hurt his family enough.)

He ignored the footsteps above, the murmurs that wondered if he knew what had happened and if they should tell him should he not, gripped the guitar by its neck, and began to swing, mercilessly beating the instrument made of wood and string and little bits of iron into the basment's floor.

Bits of wood chipped off and flew, the echo of its music distorted and despairing as it screeched every time Wilbur smashed it against the unforgiving stone. His ears were ringing, teeth grit together and water welling in his eyes as he let out his pain and grief just so he could hurt more later. Strings snapped from their bridge pins, wood falling apart and hanging on only by those remaining even remotely intact.

Wilbur didn't realize he was screaming until the ringing died as he dropped the guitar, hands shaking, and turned around to see his family standing behind him, frozen with their breaths held and eyes glistening; Tubbo was openly weeping, bandaged and mutilated hands hovering over his mouth.

"Wilbur?" Phil hedged, fingers twitching as he lifted his arm, as if he was going to reach out and comfort him, but he stopped himself just before trying.

Wilbur's lip trembled, and he hated crying because it stained his cheeks blue (Ghostbur never had that problem, did he?), but he couldn't stop himself. "My baby brother is gone."

Phil burst into tears, Tubbo now began to openly sob, and the wetness of Techno's black and red eyes finally spilled over.

Ghostbur had never called Tommy that. It was always "Tommy," sometimes "Toms," and maybe "little brother," but never "baby." The ghost had never been into upsetting people, and Tommy had made it clear that he was no baby in a dramatic outrage of normal proportions, no different than any other reaction to any affectionate nickname given. Ghostbur would not have argued it, even if Tommy was never truly offended by it.

Surprising to most but never to Wilbur, Techno was the one who moved forward first, grabbing the ghost by his yellow sweater and tugging him into a tight hug.

"We missed you, asshole," Techno muttered hoarsely.

Wilbur chuckled into his sibling's shoulder, voice cracking as he said, "My tears stain, you know."

"Does it look like I give a damn?"

Wilbur giggled, finally reaching up to return the desperate hug even as more tears spilled over, wetting the man's shoulder. "I watched him die," he murmured, soft with grief but loud enough to be heard by all of them in the empty silence of the basement. "Then I remembered."

Phil sniffled, nodding. "So did we," he said as Wilbur pulled away, bleary-eyed even for a ghost.

"You didn't hear him, though," he whispered, clutching at the spot that rested over his cold, still heart. Next to him, Tubbo buried his head in his wrapped, mangled hands and released another painful sob that sounded like it'd ripped through his chest. "He told Dream to do it, or he'd do it himself."

Phil's eyes widened, and Techno snarled, spitting out a litany of curses. "Goddamnit. Damn that fuckin’ gremlin. He told me he was okay." Quieter, he continued, "He told me he'd come to me if he..."

"I don't think it was your fault," Wilbur assured shakily, meeting Techno's eyes with a solemn smile. "I think Tommy was okay, for as okay as he could be with the things that had happened and the time that had passed. I think he wanted to live, in some way, but I think he was tired, too." Pressing his knuckles to his lips, Wilbur tried to hold himself together. "I think that Tommy was a lot like me, in the end, even if he was stronger. I wanted to live, wanted to be happy, but I had no real hope of that. I knew Dream was manipulating me; I didn't care, but I knew. I didn't think that backing out would make him stop either." He shifted his gaze to Phil. "So I took the easy way out.

"I think Tommy knew Dream would never let him go unless he died; I think he was tired of fighting and being angry and having everyone hate him. He could've lived, could've been happy, but I don't know if he thought the suffering that comes with healing would be worth it. I sure didn't."

"And us?" Tubbo rubbed his eyes, wiping the tears away and trying to stop shaking. "Did he think we were worth it?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Wilbur smiled, a bit too bitter for comfort. "But I don't think he found _himself_ worth it. After my abuse, Techno's betrayal, Phil's absence, and your exiling him, I can't say for sure if he knew we thought otherwise."

Phil looked down, bucket hat shadowing his eyes as he drowned in his own regrets; Techno looked away, staring at the wall like he was trying to find something in the horizon; Tubbo only cried more.

And Wilbur? Wilbur fought to open his mouth and get to the main point of why he'd returned here instead of razing L'manberg to the ground once more or finding Dream just in time to kill him twice over.

"Guys?" They all looked at him without pause, reservations in each of their gazes but none of them missing the underlying urgency that laid in the back of Wilbur's throat. "When I died, something happened. I had a choice and not the choice you're thinking of. But if Tommy got the same deal..."

"What the hell are you on about?" Techno griped, just as sharp and dry as ever, even in times of mourning.

Wilbur blew out a heavy breath, unneeded but dramatic. "You buried him yesterday, right?"

There was the confusion. "Yeah."

Running a hand through his hair, he laughed nervously, the echo bouncing eerily off of the basement walls. "I'm gonna take a guess and say none of you bothered check to see if his body was still there?"

There were no other questions, even if there should have been; Tubbo, Phil, and Techno were already racing one another up the ladder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Soot knows something, does he?


	10. i am empty (i need to fill a hole i can not live without)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L’manberg and the SMP come into play, and Eret discovers something even more upsetting upon his interaction with Theseus at breakfast.
> 
> Theseus mourns the loss of things he hates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some triggering things in here but not going to specify due to spoilers. The tags had enough trigger warnings, anyway, so if you’re reading this, you already know what you’re walking into.

"Tommy?"

Tommy glanced over from rummaging through his chests, narrowing his eyes when he saw Fundy standing in the doorway to his house. "Yeah?”

"Did you...egg Eret's castle?" His tail swayed behind him in a manner that Tommy recognized, one that suggested he was being nonchalant but kind of wanted to bust his gut anyway.

Tommy's eyebrows flew up on his head, hands stilling from where they were still upheaving his disorganized objects, and suddenly he forgot what it was he'd been looking for. "Huh? No. Wait, did someone fucking egg that bastard's castle?!"

Fundy chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Apparently. Everyone's losing their shit over it, but everyone thinks it was you."

"I'll definitely take credit for it." Tommy grinned childishly, shoving himself to his feet and slamming his chest shut. "I've gotta see this."

Tommy hurried past Fundy, but the fox was already on his heels as they both moved down the path. "But if you didn't do it, who did? Because it's not like anyone is really all about being subtle, ya' know."

Tommy saw the crowd soon enough, rushing over to shove through until he stood at Wilbur's side. The general titled his head down to his brother, a smile playing on his lips even as his eyes narrowed. "What brought this on, huh? I mean, I know what _did_ , but why eggs?"

"Don't exactly have access to TNT, now do I, Big Man?"

"You really just have to pick fights, don't you?" Dream called, shaking his head. "You want another war so soon?"

"Hey, it was just a prank," Eret assured lightheartedly, smiling at the L'manbergians and casting Dream a look, not quite a glare and not quite a smile but no doubt a warning. "No hard feelings."

"Wouldn't matter," Fundy interrupted, breaking through to the front and glancing uncertainly at Eret, who stood across from the rest of them, Dream just behind him, as they all stared at the mess that was the king's castle. "Tommy had no clue what I was talking about when I asked him about it."

"You just gotta ruin it, you furry!" Tommy groaned dramatically. "Fine, I didn't do it. But it's still fucking funny."

"No offense or anything," Eret started hesitantly, "but this doesn't really seem like the work of anyone else here, Tommy."

"It could've been Tubbo!" The blond argued. Sure, he'd been all for taking the credit, but now that he was being accused after admitting to the truth, he was a little pissed.

"Was not!" Tubbo cried, crossing his arms. "I don't _egg_ things, Tommy, and you know it."

The blond huffed, glaring dramatically. "Well, it still wasn't me!" 

"You're a pathological liar, Tommy—"

"Oh." The abrupt interruption from Eret stopped Dream short, and all eyes went to the king, who was now staring at Tommy like he'd suddenly been blessed with some sort of divine revelation. " _Oh_ , you didn't do it."

"I don't need validation from you, traitor bitch!" Tommy barked, white-knuckled, but Wilbur tugged him back before he could even think of moving from his spot. "I already said that! Repeating it doesn't do shit, dumbass!"

Niki glanced nervously at Tommy, as though she, too, was waiting for him to start a fight. "What makes you think that?" She hadn't been there for Eret's betrayal, so she was more neutral than the rest of them; sometimes it made her the best mediator for the SMP lands and L'manberg.

"I—" Eret blinked, catching Tommy's burning eyes for only a mere moment; the king tore his gaze from it before it could last any longer, something pained flashing across his features. "I believe Tommy if he says it wasn't him."

"Bullshit," Jack shot back, barking a short laugh as he smiled bitterly at Eret. "Nobody takes Tommy at his word. He's a scammer for a reason."

Eret grimaced, not unnoticed by anyone with their eyes on him. "The fact that he's Tommy should make it obvious he _isn't_ lying. If it was him, he'd just avoid accusations by screaming insults at me."

Tommy glowered, bouncing on the balls of his toes. "I can if you want me to!"

"Calm, Tommy," Wilbur muttered beside him, gentle but stern. Unbeknownst to most of them, Eret found himself unconsciously studying the young general, thoughts wandering to the traumatized refugee in his castle and the whereabouts of _his_ brother.

"There's no way it wasn't Tommy—"

"It doesn't matter if it was," Eret didn't hesitate to cut the masked man off again. "I'm not pressing the issue anymore. You're all free to go."

Dream huffed. "Eret, this is—"

"It was a prank." Eret shrugged, turning on his heel and leaving the crowd that did not disperse, only watching as he left towards his vandalized castle. "Who cares who did it? If it was Tommy, we don't need to start a war over a prank by a kid, do we? That's quite childish, Dream."

Dream paused in his tracks, the distance between he and Eret growing as the king continued on, and neither bothered to wait or catch up.

Even still, Eret could not forget the feeling of a burning heat against his back as Dream watched him go.

* * *

"You egged my castle."

Theseus lifted his head from his pillow, where he blinked blearily at Eret's figure in the doorway. He thought about denying it, blaming Sam like he'd planned, but just like Sam had said, they both knew it wouldn't work. "Yeah, kind of." He shrugged, rolling over and clutching the warmth of the pillow in the bed. His experience in exile still made him feel cold sometimes, the chill of damp clothes and stale winds nipping at him, even the ghosts of them conjured by his mind. "Sam helped."

Eret's sigh was loud enough for Theseus to catch despite his somewhat poor hearing. "Mind telling me why?"

"'Cause I couldn't sleep," Theseus muttered into the quiet air of the room. "I wanted to talk to Sam, and I thought it'd be fun. Also, you're still a prick."

Eret hummed. "Alright, then. But someone has to clean it up."

Theseus giggled tiredly into his pillow. "Won't be me, bitch boy. If someone sees me, we're fucked."

"How much sleep did you get last night?"

Theseus grumbled, lifting his head and finally meeting Eret's stare. "I just said I couldn't sleep, yeah? What about that don't you get? I'm fucking tired, bitch, go away."

"That's not healthy."

"I'm trying to sleep now, you ass!" He would throw the pillow if he thought he had the energy or coordination. "Fuck off! I'll be up in an hour anyway!"

Eret opened his mouth to ask but paused when the blond's screams rattled hauntingly around in his skull. "Okay. If you want food, there'll be some for you when you get up."

Theseus just glowered tiredly, rolled back over, and disappeared under the blankets. Eret left, slipping out and shutting the door as quietly as he could.

(He did not miss the sight of the shattered window, but he didn’t ask. Theseus was in no shape to answer coherently, and Eret felt as though it was none of his business.)

"Guess you can't expect much of him, can you?" Eret told himself but couldn't stop the quirk of a smile on his lips.

When the king entered the kitchen to make breakfast, he tugged off a small note that was hung on one of the cupboards.

" _Be patient with him, would you? Getting older definitely didn't improve his range for emotions._ " - _Sam_

Eret chuckled, crumpling the page as he lit the furnace and tossed it into the fire, watching patiently as it singed black and shriveled into ash. "Yeah, I can tell."

* * *

Theseus stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and looking a bit too red cheeked; Eret didn't ask, only smiling over the rim of his cup of coffee. "Sleep well?"

"Fuck you," the blond grumbled, but he shoved his hair from his eyes, peering at Eret almost desperately, and the king stepped to the side courteously so the boy could grab his own drink.

Eret watched, soft, as the blond moved about, pulling a mug from the cupboard and pouring himself barely enough coffee to balance out the taste of milk and sugar, of which he poured obscene amounts. He was no longer adorned in the same clothing and unruffled poise—Tommy-like as it was—Eret had grown used to, though the king couldn't say he knew where the extra attire had gone. The cloak was missing, as well as most of the outer layers. Instead, Theseus only remained in his underclothes, a white and red long-sleeved tunic-like shirt, reminiscent of Tommy's current style, with the collar slightly high but loose on his neck and dark cargo-like pants. His gloves, too, were missing, and he was barefoot unlike any other time Eret had seen him. His hair was a mess, and for once it was down, the braid gone and a few strands meeting the bottom of his neck.

The king could only hope it meant his olive branch had been accepted as readily as it seemed.

Glancing over his shoulder, Theseus narrowed his gaze at Eret's stare, skin pulling at the rough edges. "The fuck you looking at?"

"Nothing," Eret assured him, but his grin was hidden poorly behind the white ceramic cupped in his hands.

Rolling his eyes, Theseus flicked his eyes back to the cupboards, opening a few below the counter before huffing. "You don't have any cocoa beans, do you?"

Blinking in surprise, Eret moved to set his cup on the table and slid over to the corner of his kitchen, where a tall cabinet sat. He opened the doors and pulled out a sack of what Theseus assumed was what he'd requested. "What for?" He handed them over, frowning as the blond reached out, his sudden hesitance and shaky fingers worrying the king.

Theseus seemed to have changed his mind, though, and he snatched his hand away like something had burned them; ironically, the light through the window seeping between the frailty of the clouds seemed to hit the boy's outstretched limb just right, and Eret noticed Theseus's sleeve had ridden up, revealing the barest view of horrifically mangled scars that spoke of something more than a mere accident. The image vanished just as quick as it appeared, gone as the blond returned his arm to his side and his sleeve slipped back into place.

"Uh, sorry?" Eret pulled the cocoa beans back, quite suddenly unsure of what had happened. He tried to piece a semblance of the issue together with what he knew but couldn't quite manage it.

"You're fine," Theseus muttered, rubbing at his eyes again, this time more in frustration than grogginess. "It doesn't matter, I don't know how to do it anyway."

"Do what?" Eret hedged, and he knew he was quite possibly straying too close, but he was clogged with worry, thoughts straying to the boy he'd only seen that morning on the Prime Path, bright and hopeful but still hurt by his betrayal; the sudden insight from Theseus put the current Tommy's behavior into more perspective than Eret was willing to dwell on; it made him ache far too strongly.

"Coffee tastes like shit," Theseus told the king, blunt and hard as Tommy always was when speaking. "That's why it sucks that it's the only damned thing keeping me awake most of the time. I was gonna make it taste more like hot chocolate, 'cause it tastes better, and I liked to drink it in the cold."

Eret cocked a brow, lips twitching despite himself. "You can do that?"

"'Course not," the blond scoffed, "I just said that. That's why it doesn't matter, dumbass."

The king swallowed, setting the cocoa beans on the table next to his coffee, which was likely room temperature by now and wasted. "Then what made you think of it?"

Theseus's expression flickered, the bitterness of grief and the gentleness of nostalgia peeking out from duller eyes and the stretch of scarred flesh before it vanished like it'd never made an appearance in the first place. "If you want another heart to heart, I'll have to do worse than egg your house again, ya' know."

Eret couldn't curb his sharp bark of laughter, but the blond didn't seem to mind, so the king didn't worry. "Fine, I see how it is. I could do it for you. I mean, grind the cocoa beans and everything—"

"Nah, it's cool, Big Man," Theseus smiled, more teeth than lips, and Eret hated his inability to determine if it was sincere rather than a threat. "My brother always said I put too much sugar in it already, anyway."

 _My brother._ Theseus kept mentioning him, and Eret wouldn't be so confused if it was as easy as knowing he was referring to Wilbur. The blond hadn't said anything that would break any assumption that it was, of course, but Eret got the strange feeling he was speaking of someone else entirely, though he didn't know where from.

If Eret's assumption wasn't completely off base, then it served to say there was more to Tommy and Wilbur than anyone assumed, even now, far away from the cryptic future that Theseus had embraced death to flee from.

"Alright," the king acquiesced, moving to return the cocoa beans to their cabinet, "but eat some food, would you? It's in the furnace, just so you know, on a plate. It shouldn't be hot, just warm. I didn't know when you'd be awake, so I left it in there so it wouldn't get cold."

Theseus stared at him for a beat longer than anyone else normally would but eventually did as requested, pulling the plate out and plopping down at the table, limbs still somewhat slow as he practically collapsed into the chair. He unwrapped the napkin that was over the top and tucked beneath the underside, blinking uncertainly as he stared at the eggs, bacon, and buttered toast.

"How much did you make, eh?" The blond tilted his head at the king, quirking an eyebrow and smiling almost too amusedly to be genuine. "You made enough to last me a week. 'Better have some packed ice to store this in, man."

Eret shifted uneasily, gliding over to pick up his abandoned coffee; a single sip told him it was too cold by now to be enjoyable, but he didn't let his expression flicker, kept the cup to his lips just long enough and swallowed easily when he brought it back down, eyes pinned to the plate with three strips of bacon, two scrambled eggs, and two slices of toast. Unfortunately, the few seconds of silence gave him little reprieve. "That's...that's a single meal, kid. I've seen my Tommy eat more in less than one sitting."

Theseus's smile quivered, fingers twitching over where he'd reached to grab the smallest piece of bacon the platter offered. "Oh. Uh, well, teen metabolism, innit? I guess I grew out of it."

Eret's fingers tightened around his cup, loosened, and he only just stopped himself from blowing out a heavy breath. The moment was fragile, but the king could think of nothing better than dumping his coffee out just to watch it drain and die with all his muddled emotions. "Tommy, _I_ ate more than that this morning."

The blond exhaled a small chuckle, finally picking up the bacon and taking a bite. His eyes turned to finally pay Eret attention, something eerie on the barely upturned corners of the boy's mouth. Just as Eret was about to bring attention to the issue, Theseus swallowed and said, "Probably, Big Man."

The king wanted to clutch at his cape, wring it in his fingers until the threads were disassembled and burn his crown until it was melted into enough gold to make an apple just for the soldier who sat across from him, trapped in a child's body.

He needed to say something, wanted to reassure him like he couldn't or ask him like he shouldn't, but all that came out was, "Jesus Christ."

"It's been a long few years, innit?" The blond laughed at his expression, and suddenly Eret recognized the uneasy tinge taunting his smile, the defeated resignation that stared at someone just naive enough to fool with smiles and laughter. "Sometimes things are more important, aye? Or just not important enough."

Stared down by a 16-year-old teen, the king felt like a child being thrown into the reality that was war’s mindscape and trauma's battlefield.

"Tell me you're not going to die."

Theseus's expression dropped, an emotion most similar to shock but just nearly off replacing the previous. "The hell? My stomach is just really fucking small now, is all I was told. Not healthy, but I ain't gonna drop dead as long as I don't not eat."

"No," Eret agreed, "but you talk like you don't care."

Theseus shrugged, taking another bite of his bacon; he'd not even finished the first piece, and the rest was still left untouched. "Kinda stopped a while ago, Big Man. Caring about it doesn't get me anywhere except a fucking breakdown. And I'm kind of tired of those, ya' know?"

Eret was tempted to just dump his coffee on the floor and simply reassure the blond that he wasn't crazy afterwards. "That's less healthy."

"So I've been told."

"Not caring is what kills you, Tommy," Eret told him, throat tight. "The fact that you're malnourished isn't really what I was talking about."

Eret had already had enough nightmares, silent as they were, of watching Theseus fall from the watch tower in a twisted dance of serenity and failure.

"I've wanted to die for a while," Theseus admitted, chuckling at Eret's crestfallen expression. "It shocked me, too, for a while. But I don't...I have hope now. For what, I'm not really sure yet."

"You think it's going to fix anything?" Eret didn't ask out of maliciousness or spite, not even to remind the blond of reality; he asked because he hoped, too. "For you, I mean."

"Maybe, maybe not." Theseus shrugged, shoving the rest of the bacon strip into his mouth and moving onto a second. "If it does, then I'll disappear, and it's not like it'll matter—it'll mean I don't exist anyway, right? And if it doesn't, then, well, maybe I can experience the joy of something I created for once instead of witnessing the dread of everything I destroy."

Eret frowned. "You don't destroy, kid. Sure, you scream and pull pranks and get into trouble, but you're not a monster."

Theseus barked a laugh, high-pitched and abrupt like the ones Tommy would pull out of amused shock, but the hysterical tinge in it unsettled the king. "I've done fucked up things, Big Man, things I'm not proud of and things you'd probably hate me for."

Eret swallowed the lump in his throat, attempted a laugh that sounded strained even to his own ears. "I cost you and the rest of L'manberg one of your lives. I'm not in any position to judge."

The same laugh from before echoed in the kitchen, and Eret couldn't suppress a wince this time. "Maybe," the blonde said, but it was lackluster in its sincerity.

"Tommy—"

"Aye!" Theseus stood enthusiastically, grinning a bit too widely at the king as the chair clattered loudly behind him from its violent jostling. "All's good, Big Man! Don't worry about it, alright? Don't be so serious!" At Eret's tempered grimace, Theseus shrugged, still smiling. "Look, I've got big things to do today, yeah? Sam brought me these bandages and shit, ya' know, 'cause I needed them and stuff, but I need help putting them on, right? And I was gonna ask Sam, but then I remembered that he's gone right now and too busy for that shit, so I thought—"

"Ah," Eret's lips tilted up, "you want my help."

Theseus scowled at him, smile replaced by a familiar dramatic outrage that would've pinned the blond as Tommy even if the man had dyed his hair black and had red eyes. "Don't look so smug, you bastard! I don't need shit if you're gonna—"

"Not smug, I promise!" Eret raised his hands in surrender, ignoring the false mood detection. Perhaps Theseus had been willingly avoiding Eret's uncomfortable transition to reluctantly ignoring their heavy conversation, or maybe the blond truly did miss the memo; either way, the king wasn't going to waste the opportunity to get further into Theseus's graces. "Just glad you trust me enough for that."

"I don't _trust_ you," Theseus insisted, somewhat petulantly, crossing his arms and glaring, "but I don't _not_ trust you either, I guess. And you're my only option. Last time I did it myself, I got it all tangled and shit, and then Sam had to undo it—"

"Tommy!" The white-eyed man laughed, resisting the urge to reach over and ruffle the blond's hair. The conversation from before was still on his mind, and he was sure the touch would not be appreciated. "Kid, just tell me and I'll help you. You said something about bandages?" His smile dimmed, brow furrowing. "Did you get hurt, or—?"

"No!" The young man flushed brightly, outrage twisting his features further. "If I was fucking injured, I wouldn't be asking for your help, you prick! I just need a way to hide my face while I go out, just in case anyone sees me! And I didn't want a stupid fucking mask, so Sam got me bandages like I asked, and they're hard to put on without messing it up!" The blond huffed, catching his breath as his one-breath rant died for a moment. "Bitch," he added with a scowl.

Eret hummed with a small grin, glancing over at the clock on his wall to notice that it was half past nine in the morning. Not quite early but not too late that another hour would kill Theseus's day. "How about I help guide you through it on your own? That way, next time you need to put them on, you can do it yourself without mine or even Sam's help."

Theseus blinked, and Eret's stomach dropped as something too similar to pain shuttered across the time traveler's face. It was so sudden—and gone just as quick—that the king assumed for a moment that it hadn't happened at all, that he was still thinking too hard on the conversation beforehand. "That might be more work than just helping me put them on, Big Man. But if you really don't wanna help, you can just say so. Be less of a little bitch, aye?"

"Tommy, what—?"

Theseus rolled his eyes, shoving the chair out from behind his legs and stepping away from the table. The rest of the food was left on the plate, cold and bland. "Just tell me you don't wanna touch me, alright? Stop being a bitch."

"Tommy, that's not it at all," Eret argued, calm and reassuring. He hoped his exposed eyes were more of a comfort than a trigger to the blond (he still remembered waking Theseus and watching him backpedal upon the moment they locked eyes). "I just thought you'd feel better not having to rely on me or Sam. If...if you wanted a hug or something, you could have just asked."

"I don't want a fucking hug!" Theseus scowled, baring his teeth like a feral animal, and Eret knew if he tried to make a move towards him, the blond would lash out. "I don't want you to touch me at all, you son of a bitch!"

"But you said—?"

"I know what I fucking said!" Theseus drew his arms up, crossing them as his hands clutched at his biceps; he glanced down at them before returning his attention to Eret. "Fuck you.”

"Tommy, it's okay," Eret promised, once more displaying the palms of his hands up by his head, and he didn't miss how Theseus studied them, eyes flickering from his hands to any other place that could hide something deadly. "Whatever you want, we'll do. I have all the time in the world and nothing better to do."

It wasn't quite true, but it felt like it was, and that was good enough.

The blond's fingers curled tighter around his upper arms, the sleeves wrinkling under the tug. "Just teach me how to do it myself, bitch."

Eret smiled, kept it free of his own inner turmoil, and nodded. "Alright, I estimate about an hour then, so we should get started. Go get your bandages, and we'll do it in here. There's more light, and I won't invade your personal space."

The blond's arms dropped to his sides, body releasing the majority of its tension, and grinned. "Yeah, that's right, bitch! It's my room! No pussies allowed!" And then he was off, slipping past Eret to dart down the castle halls.

Eret thought about the anxiety coiled within the blond, the sudden flip of a coin that changed his tune and behavior. The king wasn't sure if it was another one of Theseus's carefully crafted facades or if the child soldier had found it that easy to switch so quickly between moods. He wasn't sure he had the resolve quite yet to want to know.

* * *

_"Wilbur, Wilbur, what are you doing—please don't hurt me! Wilby—!"_

_..._

_"Toms?"_

_"Yeah, Big Dubs?"_

_"I'm sorry." A whisper of regret and reassurance. "It won't happen again, I promise."_

_"I know, Wil. Just...stop hiding from me, alright? You can talk to me."_

_"I will."_

_Liar, liar._

_..._

_A young boy, a kid and soldier, screamed as his eldest brother was run through on a sword, smile upon his dying lips, and hated the thought that his older brother had wanted to leave him behind, alone and cold and scared._

**_"I'll always be here for you, Toms. I'm not going anywhere."_ **

_Liar, liar, burn in hellfire._

_..._

_Eventually, the young boy learned how to hide himself, too._

_("Dumb little boy.")_

_It hurts less to pretend everything is fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eret’s mention of Theseus’s mood swings is pretty reflective of how Wilbur was acting in the last cutscene, was it not?
> 
> There are so many little hints and details in this chapter that allude to so many things! I’m so excited to keep going forward with this!
> 
> Also, I’m getting swamped with class work lately, so I can’t completely guarantee another update next Wednesday, but I will try my best! 
> 
> (To be honest, I could get a chapter out next week guaranteed, but it would be kind of shit, and I would hate it and myself.)


	11. time heals all wounds (except when it only leaves them to fester)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eret tries to help, Sam works on his base, and Theseus struggles with what he wants to do and what his trauma tells him he needs to. 
> 
> Dream returns to hash out the unfinished conversation he and Eret left untouched that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody mentioned it in the comments, but this line from last chapter: “Sometimes things are more important, aye? Or just not important enough." 
> 
> Theseus said this when talking to Eret about his malnutrition. It’s vague, but Theseus is referring to not only his most recent exile but also Pogtopia. Theseus had more concerns (Wilbur’s madness, Tubbo being a spy and trying to help him, sneaking into Manberg for intel, their lack of supplies, etc) than eating consistently. Plus, they were (canonically) living off potatoes, which isn’t a good diet, not to mention Theseus likely didn’t always have time to cook them. In his recent exile, he wasn’t deemed important, as nobody visited him often, basically never later on further into his exile; by then, Dream had dug his claws so far into Theseus, therefore, feeding him was never deemed important, not by him or Dream, because Theseus felt useless, hated, and better off dead, and Dream only saw him as a toy.
> 
> Conclusively, Theseus implies that his malnutrition didn’t start in his most recent exile but long before that (though Eret knows nothing about Theseus having been exiled either time).
> 
> I’m sorry if I’m rambling, but I have so many little implications from all the characters that I want people to notice! See if you can find one in this chapter! I mentioned it in the end notes!

When Eret said an hour, he really hadn't taken into account the fact that he'd be dealing with TommyInnit.

"Stop cussing, and calm down. You're tangling it because you're flailing."

"You're pissing me off!"

"Still flailing."

"Fuck you!"

Eret heaved a sigh, reaching over to grab the blond's hands, keeping his grip just long enough to still them before taking them back. "Undo what you have, and we'll start again. I'll sit here with you all day if I have to, Tommy, I can promise you that, but you won't get much of what you want to do, whatever it is, done if it's past noon by the time you manage to finish this."

Theseus scowled in his direction, bandages twisted and crossed discomfortingly across his forehead, but obeyed, undoing his mess and irritatingly untangling the sad lump. "This is bullshit."

"Just follow my instructions, ask for clarification if you need it, and pay attention to how you're going about it in the mirror. You're fine."

"I know I'm fucking fine!" Gnashing his teeth, the blond started to tug, and Eret winced, hoping Theseus wouldn't tear the fabric. "I've wasted enough of your goddamned time, just fucking go! I know you have better shit to deal with than babysitting some whiny fucking pain in the ass who can't even stop himself from throwing a goddamned temper tantrum over a couple fucking bandages!"

"I said I had plenty—"

"Yeah, you fucking said that over an hour ago, and we know fucking well that you weren't planning on being here any longer than that." Glancing backwards, eyes narrowed, the blond's face lost some of its harsh bitterness as he met Eret's eyes in the mirror. The king wondered what he saw there, because the blond suddenly looked slightly wistful, too. "I can figure this shit out myself, Big Man. It was nice of you and shit to try and help me, but I can take it from here."

There was no defensive anger anymore, not where Eret could see, and so he wasn't quite sure how to reassure Theseus. "You're not a pain in the ass," he argued instead, because it felt like the next best guess. Theseus quirked an incredulous eyebrow, daring the king, and Eret chuckled. "Okay, you kind of are. But Tommy, you're also stuck in the past and trying to...save the world or something all by yourself, and now you're stressed out. If anybody's mad at you, it's not me."

Theseus was silent for an un-Tommy-like length of time, but it was not for too long. He seemed to be carefully deciding what he wanted to say, struggling with _what_ he wanted to say. "I'm not a fucking hero, Eret," and oh, did the king's formal name coming from a man once and still too Tommy make goosebumps prick his skin, "and I never fucking wanted to be, no matter what the fuck everyone else seemed to think or want from me. This Tommy—your Tommy—maybe he thinks he's like a hero; maybe he thinks he could be one. But he's just a selfish kid too attached to a couple pieces of plastic because they're more consistent in bringing him joy than his own absent father and distant oldest brother. The only other godforsaken thing he has is another brother who'll eventually spiral into a madman and a friend who'll turn his back on him for a piece of land, and maybe he doesn't know that yet, but it doesn't matter because what he _does_ know is that they'll leave one day, even if he doesn't know when or how."

Eret's mouth felt dry. That explained the "brother" thing more, then, though his identity remained unfathomable. "I'd tell you not to think like that, but it's a poor lie when talking to someone who's lived it, huh?"

Theseus blinked, head finally turning to stare at Eret through something other than a reflective piece of glass. He smiled, then, humming a puff of laughter than told Eret his honesty was appreciated. "I'm trying to make a point here, Big Man, alright? And the point—fuck, I can't even remember any fucking point of all this bullshit. The fucking point is, is that I'm not a hero because I'm too selfish, and I'm okay with that, sometimes. But ya' know what that means, Big Man?"

Eret smiled lightly, neutral in a way that did not anticipate a laugh or joy nor heartache or pain. "Mh?"

"It means that I'm not here to 'save the world' or whatever other shit you're on about. It means I'm here to try and fix all the bullshit that shouldn't have happened anyway, and maybe I'm trying to help some people, too. I don't think I'm saving anyone, honestly. The first war is over; I think most of us were past saving by that point, or at least past being saved, ya' know? I can stop the bullshit, but I can't save anyone. Saving them means none of them would know what dying feels like; Tommy wouldn't flip his shit at the Final Control Room or poke at the scar on his throat; Tubbo wouldn't have nightmares of his best friend bleeding out in the water or think of the TNT trembling beneath his feet; Fundy wouldn't have ever had to look up at his own father and general as he was marched onto the battlefield or wish his missing mother could sing him to sleep each night after he went to bed with blood on his hands and bombs in his ears, when his father leading another troop in the night couldn't; Wilbur wouldn't know the feeling of his shaking, dirty hands trying to strum the strings of his guitar to soothe his worn men and send goodbyes to the fallen or understand what it means to look down at your people—your son, even—and know that the trust they hold for you also comes with the knowledge that you are also leading many of them to their deaths, and that they've accepted it."

Eret did not swallow the lump in his throat, and Theseus's gaze did not waver. There were no tears or the shimmering of eyes, or even the tremble of a note as the blond spoke. It was apparent the child soldier had grown numb to such tender knowledge long ago, somewhere in a future now lost to them, and for the better. "I'm not a hero. I don't want to be. I'm just looking to spare everyone the utter crap and do something better than just deciding to off myself in some cowardly attempt at making amends."

Eret nodded and didn't address the offhanded mention of suicide. "Well, trying to do better is still stressful." Waving his hands, the king tipped a smile, said, "I would know."

Theseus mirrored the awkward smile, dipped his head in a barely-there attempt at acknowledgement. "If I'm gonna do better, Big Man, then I think I can start by doing shit myself."

"Asking for help isn't a bad thing," Eret told him. "It can be a sign for doing better, too."

"I went to Sam, didn't I?" Theseus picked up the bandages, unwound the last tangle, and narrowed his eyes. "I just think that maybe with only one person to get frustrated with, this'll go quicker."

Eret chuckled. "If that's what you really want. Don't hurt yourself, yeah?"

"Don't be a bitch."

Eret full-on laughed that time, loud and genuine, and stood to leave, saying, "I'll try," as he removed himself from the room and shut the door behind him.

_"The only other godforsaken thing he has is another brother who'll eventually spiral into a madman and a friend who'll turn his back on him for a piece of land..."_

It could be nobody but Wilbur and Tubbo. But what did it mean: how and when did Wilbur go mad; what did it entail? How had Tubbo chosen the "piece of land" over Tommy, and why had he done so?

The answers were vague in their form, and the accumulating questions were only growing larger and more complexly clear. Eret wished Sam was here; perhaps he knew more.

He at least hoped the man made it back in time for the votes to be announced.

* * *

Sam narrowed his eyes at the sun, hand shading his eyes as the heat beat down on him. Once the sun set, it wouldn't be a big deal, but he really didn't want to waste more time than he felt like he already had.

He wondered how long the original Sam (original? Is that what he should be calling the alternate future version of himself? He hoped if he continued that it wouldn't come down to an identity crisis) had taken to build his base, if he'd been consistent or dragged the project out on his own terms. Admittedly, Sam himself was rushing to finish the majority of the structure, even if it wouldn't be considered completed before he insisted Theseus move in. It needed to be livable, was all, and he knew Theseus would prefer that more than waiting for Sam to touch up every redstone contraption and automated farm he hoped to make beforehand.

He couldn't say he wasn't excited for Theseus to finally see the base when it was finished, or even during whatever stage it was in the moment he moved in. He wondered if Theseus's Sam had built things the same way, with the same routes of redstone and same blocks, if the chests were in the same place, if the farms he planned to build were the same ideas Theseus's Sam had had. Perhaps the blond could even lend him some insight into what his Sam had built, as it might give Sam more ideas sooner than the other Sam had managed to come up with them.

He sighed, pushing his mask onto the top of his head and wiping the sweat from his forehead; he felt the dust of redstone stick to the remaining condensation. Pulling a stone button from his inventory, he stepped up to the side of the mountain and placed it, stepping back and squinting.

"Moment of truth," he muttered, hoping he'd gotten everything right as he pressed the stone pad and waited.

Not a second later did the sound of pistons start shifting, and the large door began to retreat into the ground, revealing the large space he'd carved out inside. Holding his breath, he pressed it again, watching with glee as it rose back into place, masking the oddities so that nothing was amiss once more.

"Yes!" Sam cheered, grinning giddily enough that his cheeks almost ached. "Just a little longer, Tommy. A little longer, and I'll have my base of operations, and you'll have your hideaway." His grin dimmed, though did not disappear, shoulders sagging from their tense hold. "No way in hell will Dream get to you here. I'll make sure of it."

* * *

It only took Theseus about an extra hour to finish his bandages, examining them with his one good eye in the mirror. They looked alright, and an extra tug confirmed them to be secure, but he'd check with Eret before leaving, just in case.

The thought of being caught off guard, of any part of his face that he wasn't allowing to be shown peeking out, of the bandages slipping just enough to show a drifting eye or scarred cheek, was enough for Theseus to feel the bacon he'd managed to force down rise in the back of his throat, the sour taste of bile following it. He swallowed it down and tried to think about anything other than the only things that ever plagued his mind anymore—an inevitably futile endeavor, of course, and it made him dizzy thinking about that either. He felt like a paradox created just to rip itself apart.

He left downstairs, determined to ask Eret for his confirmation and simply leave; he'd been idling around for far too long, he knew. He only had a couple more days before the votes were presented, as far as he knew, and if he wanted to kill Schlatt, he needed to do a little recon first.

(It's what Wilbur would have deemed reasonable, what Techno would have insisted on.)

Padding down the steps, he felt the silence envelop him and didn't bother to dwell on it. He hated it, the silence, but he also hated the noise of fireworks and TNT and yelling. Nowadays he had a balance that dictated his comfort for noise levels, and on bad days, even his own yelling could make him wince, though the eerie silence could similarly consume him if left unchecked.

He barely entered Eret's throne room before he heard the distant sound of Dream's voice and stiffened. His hate for noise came from trauma and pain, and his distaste for silence came from experience and paranoia: noise meant inevitable pain, and silence meant impending doom. It was ironic, Theseus thought, that he tried to sidestep doom by filling the silence with his own noise, and it always ended up with people wanting and trying to hurt him for it.

(The silence seemed never-ending, still. TNT too close had scarred half of his body; why wouldn’t it eat away at his only sense that whispered warnings of enemies sneaking up behind him?)

" _Cycle of abuse,_ " Techno whispered in the depths of Theseus's head, and the blond promptly shook it away.

He was in the doorway, right at Dream's back even if he was yards away, and Eret saw him over Dream's head first. The king pointedly did not react, for Dream's eyes were still pinned to him as he spoke, but Theseus didn't need any instruction; he was frozen in place, staring at the dirty blond hair and mask strap that wrapped around the back of the madman's head.

But Theseus knew this Dream was not quite yet a madman, not nearly so much as his own, or perhaps he hid it better than his Dream. It didn't matter either way; Theseus still hated himself for being torn between turning on his heel and fleeing back to his room for the rest of the day to hide beneath his bed and cry in the shadows or announcing his presence so he could embrace someone he'd spent far too long thinking of as his one and only friend that may have hurt him but offered comfort just the same.

He could kill him, too, though. It would only be one life, the masked man's first as far as Theseus knew, but he could. Dream wouldn't even know who'd have done it, after all. He'd promised to make Dream his prey this time around, and the hunter did not run from its prey nor befriend it.

And yet, Theseus did not think he had the strength at the moment to follow through. When he had gone feral at the community house, it had been a rage even he himself could not predict or control; it was out of his hands the moment it'd taken hold, nothing but pure fury driving him into a frenzy similar to a shark when scenting blood.

But here and now, he did not feel fury, not the kind he had then. He hated Dream, wanted to crush his skull with his boots and scream in his face as he wailed on him until he himself was numb and the body below him had died in pain, but there was nothing to trigger any rage to the surface, all of it buried beneath other emotions that seemed to have deemed it fit for them to take their place at the surface of his heart now.

 _Go_ , Eret was tapping, not rushed or desperate, only methodically so as to not tip Dream off. _Run_. Theseus wasn't sure, though some of what Techno taught him about it had unwillingly stuck enough for him to recognize a few simple letters just well enough.

Eventually, Theseus did turn around and leave, quietly and carefully, and decided he needed no confirmation from Eret. He left out of a small back door that the castle had, very much unlike the large, ornate gate at the front and the rest of the elaborately grand structure, but hidden from prying eyes.

He reached into his inventory, stroked the handle of his oldest brother's axe—now his own, Theseus supposed—before grabbing an invis pot instead and downing it in one gulp. He tossed the bottle into the nearby river, just down a hill, and watched the stream carry it away before tearing his eyes away, taking a deep breath, and running.

He was not free, not yet; he still wanted far too badly to curl up in the room Eret had given him and shake, or call Dream's name for some pathetic, barren attempt at warmth, but the freedom of the winds and open space before him, nobody to stop him but himself, at least at the moment, was just enough for him to hope.

It might not be permanent, but he had it for now, and it would have to be enough for as long as it would last.

* * *

Eret clenched his jaw, finally, as Theseus spun on his heel after standing frozen for longer than comfortingly appropriate, and Dream noticed, words pausing in their rant as he narrowed his eyes behind his mask. "What?"

What, indeed. Theseus had just frozen in the doorway, paralyzed, and Eret couldn’t help but wonder how the blond hadn’t heard Dream’s angry barks before he’d walked in.

“I just think you’re being a bit ridiculous, is all.” Eret brushed the man off, shrugging a shoulder as nonchalantly as he could. “Letting Tommy go isn’t a big deal, Dream. Beyond the fact that I already said he didn’t do it, he’s a kid, and it was a prank.”

“You betrayed them,” Dream reminded him, sharp and blunt in the way Eret knew the man simply did just to watch the king wince. “It wasn’t some meaningless prank; it was revenge.”

“Revenge?” Even if Eret hadn’t known about Theseus or understood far too well what Tommy must be thinking of him now, hurt and angry far beyond the norm for the kid, he still would’ve thought the descriptor ridiculous. “Let’s say, for one moment, that he was behind the whole thing, as you seem to think. He _egged_ my castle! Egged! He didn’t shoot a bow at my head or climb through my broken window to toss harming pots on my sleeping head! He may be angry, sure; I have no doubt he egged me because of what I did, but that doesn’t qualify as revenge whatsoever, not any kind that fits the reply of revenge that would fit my crime. What he did was harmless, and it hardly warrants any kind of harsh retaliation.”

Dream shifted, mask blocking any form of expression for Eret to read (the king suspected, if nothing else, that was the reason the man wore it) and paused. “You have a broken window?”

“I fixed it,” Eret said, not bothering to panic over the slip; it hardly revealed someone else was inhabiting his castle. “Just a little mishap with myself and I. But that’s not the point.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” Dream conceded, tone hard. “It may be harmless now, but if you don’t bother to take this seriously, Tommy will make the assumption that he can get away with it, and he’ll only get worse in his retaliation. It’ll probably escalate to a dangerous point, even if it isn’t there now.”

_“How do I forgive you for letting me care about you?!”_

Eret didn’t hesitate nor did he let his expression shift, but his chest ached all the same as he spoke, knowing and regretful at once. “Tommy’s not vindictive like that, at least not in a malicious way. I think the worst I could fear from him was waking up to a griefed castle and stolen items; even then he likely wouldn’t do more than leave my person naked. He’s a brash kid, but he cares, often too much. I don’t believe he’d ever hurt me as you suggest.”

Dream laughed incredulously, and Eret could only imagine the bitter grin behind the porcelain. “You betrayed them for kingship and allowed them to die. If he cared, he certainly doesn’t now.”

Eret’s face grew red, and he pushed himself to his feet, causing Dream to take a surprised step back at the king’s sudden boldness. “I never agreed to what you all did!” He hissed, the noise echoing throughout the large expanse of the throne room. “I agreed to your terms, terms which never once said they would die! They were supposed to give up their stuff and surrender, not—not the barbaric slaughter you seemed to think acceptable! You made me king, Dream, but it does not mean I sit here with no regrets for my actions or forgiveness for you.”

The Admin tilted his head, and Eret fought not to crack his own jaw as he grit his teeth. “But they don’t know that, do they? After all, you never protested before.”

Eret simmered but sat back down, fighting not to let Dream witness the regret paint itself across his face; the man knew of it, there was no reason not to admit to it, but like hell would he allow the man to witness it, too. “No,” he conceded, tone quiet and resigned, “they don’t. I would defend myself to say it happened too quick for me to protest, but I know where my guilt lies; I was a coward.”

“And suddenly you’re not?”

Eret smiled, more a grimace than anything else. “I’d like to think I’ve come to understand what I’ve done wrong. Have you?”

Dream was silent, and Eret couldn’t decipher whether he felt like he was being glared at or not; perhaps it didn’t matter. The gaze persisted in making him feel uneasy. “Look,” Eret sighed, “picking fights with Tommy over something so trivial is pointless. If we’re going to punish him for disrespecting me or whatever you’re on about, you might as well punish him for every little thing he does. He rages at and insults anyone and everyone with no regard for his safety or their feelings more often than not, and it won’t be curbed just because they’re more powerful than him or have a higher station. In the end, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because Tommy didn’t do what you’re accusing him of.”

Dream hummed. “Yes, you’re very insistent on that. Interesting, seeing as even the rest of L’manberg were plenty willing to believe it was him. They would know him better, no?”

“I was part of L’manberg once, too,” Eret reminded him, a not-so-subtle jab and a well-hidden defiance that told Dream who’s side he was really on, “and that doesn’t make a difference. I _know_ who did it, and it certainly wasn’t Tommy.”

“You _know_?” Dream leaned back, tone dragging as though he was raising an eyebrow. “You seemed to think it was Tommy at first, too.”

Eret frowned. “Yes, but I was quick to realize I’d missed a few pieces of the puzzle.”

“And what might those be?”

‘ _Nothing much,_ ’ Eret thought, ‘ _just the fact that I have an emotionally constipated, time-traveling child soldier living with me that you aren’t supposed to know about, and we’d just had a really heavy conversation the night before, so no shit would he go and throw the most physical tantrum he could pin onto someone else—which is working, by the way—to ignore all the mushiness. Also, he kind of admitted it to me this morning, so I don’t know what you’re so hung up about._ ’

“Sam and I have a prank war going on.” At Dream’s incredulous shoulder drop, Eret chuckled. “I didn’t quite realize it was Sam’s doing at first; it was quite a childish thing to pull, after all.”

“And if I ask Sam this?”

Eret hoped his confidence in Sam’s smarts were well-founded and that the man would respond accordingly. “You can, but I don’t really know why you’d waste the time. You think I’d defend Tommy like this if he _did_ do it?”

“You said it yourself: you never wanted any of them to die.” Dream shrugged, hands stuffing themselves into his pockets. “Just because you betray someone doesn’t mean you stop caring about them.”

Eret’s jaw tightened. “Ask Sam or don’t, I don’t care. But I want you to drop this subject and leave Tommy alone. It’s my castle that was messed with, my work and pride being poked at; I decide how it’s dealt with. Alright?”

“Fine,” Dream conceded, and it was light, no bite to his tone, but Eret could read the hostile disappointment between the lines. “Well, I suppose I’m finished here, then. Have a good day.”

Eret nodded respectfully in a silent reply, watching Dream disappear and listening intently for the sound of the front doors opening and closing.

“Good riddance,” the king muttered, turning his gaze down to his lap.

_“If he cared, he certainly doesn’t now.”_

Sometimes, Eret wished it were that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people won’t pick up on it, but this line: “Just because you betray someone doesn’t mean you stop caring about them.” It was meant to hint at future Dream and his actions (hurting his friends and manipulating them), like a foreshadowing from present Dream that readers already know about. In any case, Dream is inadvertently comparing himself to Eret, and it’s simultaneously sad and sickening (you know, since Dream acting like he’s in the right all the time in the future, had no regrets, etc, and Eret isn’t anywhere near as selfish or messed up).
> 
> Also: The funniest thing is, is that out of everything in this chapter, what pisses me off most is that I can't even figure out if Sam's base is on the east or west side of the mountain it's carved into, therefore, I can't tell if the sun sets in front of the door or behind the mountain on the other side of it! If anyone knows, please tell me.


End file.
